Dependence I: Heartsinger
by Penname wa Silver B
Summary: The climax approaches, strengths are tested, and the end is nigh! ...Huzzah(Part One Complete.)
1. Instruction

(I've been working on the idea for this fanfiction for a ridiculously long time, and I'm finally posting it. So, if you're reading this, please, if there is even a speck of kindness in that abyss you call a heart, READ AND REVIEW. You don't know how much it would mean to me. I'm a sad little review-feeder of a fanfic author.

This fic is based on the Neverwinter Nights expansion "Shadows of Undrentide", follows the adventures of a kobold named Deekin, and will continue into the expansion "Hordes of the Underdark". I assume you know what a kobold is...if you don't, it's basically a scaly little lizardman.

Disclaimer: Neverwinter Nights is property of Bioware, Floodgate Entertainment, Atari, Forbidden Realms, Wizards of the Coast and Dungeons and Dragons. Hope I didn't miss anyone :P I wish I could say the PC was my own, but it was created using the aforementioned's design system, so technically, it isn't. Oh well. I wrote the fic, at least.)

**Dependence I: Heartsinger**

Chapter One

Across northern Faerun stretches the vast expanse of snowy plains known as the Silver Marches. For miles and miles, blinding whiteness is all the eye can see; but, on the southerly edge of the Silver Marches is a mountainous area called the Nether Mountains, named for the ancient Netherese monarchs who carved their empires from the tops of these mountains so long ago.

In one section of the Nether Mountains in particular, the mountains splayed on either side of a ravine cracked almost obscenely through the frozen earth, a narrow pass lining the crevice's insides and leading to the entrance of a large cave at the bottom. A clan of kobolds had made themselves at home within this cave generations ago, ruled by a white dragon who dwelt in the cave's lower levels, guarded by the vicious kobolds called Ice Hounds he had trained to protect his patience rather than his life.

The dragon himself was named Tymofarrar, and was young and rather obese for a dragon. Nevertheless, he considered himself to be very intelligent--and he was, for his particular species--and cultured, going so far as to train one of the kobolds to be a bard. When bored, Tymofarrar called his little bard over from his corner of the cave to sing a ballad or two, just as he was now. Tymofarrar closed his eyes and heeded the ballad's words until he bored of it, then dismissed his entertainer. With a curt bow, the kobold obeyed and returned to the corner of the cave deemed his own.

This kobold's name was Deekin.

Now, Deekin was very intelligent and imaginative for a kobold; the first thing he did upon reaching his corner was open up a musty old tome and start reading. Reading was often the only interesting thing to do around here--or at least, the only safely interesting thing, as getting squashed by a fat dragon or paralyzed and used to pick said dragon's teeth was far from boring. His options were to read, count the half-eaten corpses sloppily strewn about Tymofarrar's cave, practice playing his lute or do nothing at all. Of course, he would have loved to write, but there was nothing to write about. Nothing anyone would want to read about, that is.

So, Deekin gingerly flipped through the worm-eaten pages and fantasized about the exciting adventures many a noble hero had gone on--of the crazed emperors they'd overthrown, of the many bizarre planes they'd traveled, of the odd and wondrous creatures they'd seen, of the piles of treasure and fame they'd accumulated. Deekin loved to read about this sort of thing, but even more loved to daydream about adventuring himself. Of course, he thought with a disconsolate glance about the dim cave he'd spent the majority of his life in, the odds of escaping his greedy master were a billion to one.

That was when Tymofarrar called him back over.

Wondering what Tymofarrar wanted--he couldn't possibly want another ballad so soon after the first?--Deekin closed the book over its ribbon to mark the spot he'd left off at and skittered over.

"You wants Deekin, Boss?" the kobold squeaked curiously with a nervous shift from foot-to-foot, gazing at the scaly white behemoth which towered over him.

"You know of J'Nah, don't you?" the dragon queried with a blast of bad breath Deekin did his best to ignore. "The elf from the gnoll caves in the High Forest?"

"Uhh, yep, Deekin knows," Deekin affirmed, trying not to wrinkle his nose. "That be the lady who sends Boss letters, right?"

"Yes," the dragon smiled, pleased at his servant's assertiveness. "Yes, that is the one. We've arranged a bargain, you see."

"A bargain, Boss?"

"Yes...have the chief get his strongest kobolds down here and I will explain," the dragon instructed, flipping aside a large square stone with his tail to reveal the entrance to a tunnel.

Deekin nodded to this order and slipped past the overturned rock into the tunnel, carved out of ground so black and solidly frozen it seemed to be stone. Crawling through it, he admired the tunnel's width; it had been designed by Tymofarrar to allow him exit out of the cave without having to wade through winding tunnels and scrabbling kobolds. Of course, the dragon was too big to fit through the tunnel in his usual form, and had to transform human to use it. In addition to leaving the cave, this human form was also used for writing in a journal of sorts Tymofarrar kept. Deekin was the only of the dragon's kobolds to know of this form; for this, he felt special.

Deekin rarely used this tunnel, as Tymofarrar seldom invited him on his trips out of the cave. Of course, that hadn't kept Deekin from sneaking out and spying on his master from time to time.

Coming to the end of the tunnel now, Deekin squeezed through the tight gap between the tunnel's exit and the back of a large boulder concealing it. He supposed his master pushed the rock aside when using this way out, but the kobold hadn't enough strength to do this quickly, and Tymofarrar grew fast impatient for one who had lived centuries already.

Fortunately, the cave's main entrance was adjacent the secret one, and Deekin darted into it. At his arrival, several guarding kobolds rapidly drew their weapons, lowering them only after Deekin frantically insisted he brought news from the Boss. That out of the way, they led him past an expansive set-up of various traps and through several looming, puzzle-locked gates into the heart of the kobolds' miniature city.

There really wasn't much to be said of the small city, if it could be called even that. It was more a combination warehouse and meeting place, with old stolen crates heaped with old cloth and dried meat, an occasional half-eaten wolf or human corpse by their sides. Then there were the kobolds themselves, a ragtag bunch, generally thin and dull-scaled and garbed in plain brown rags. Looking about the place with shifty eyes, they stopped and chattered nervously, an occasional one darting from place to place, stopping only to hesitantly take a handful of meat from a crate or corpse, shove it in its mouth and move on.

At Deekin's arrival, the many kobolds successively stopped and stared at him. They recognized the bard for his kempt look and his lustrous green scales, indicative of being personally pampered by their draconic master. Envy rising in their gamey chests, they called over their chief, whose name was Arzig. There was something of a to-do as someone went into an off-shoot of the cavern and returned with the Chief Arzig. Despite the golden bracelets and somewhat more colorful clothing the chief wore, he was as thin as the rest and also seemed somewhat jealous of Deekin, as he gave him an irritated look and strutted over.

"Grr, what you wants?" Chief Arzig demanded crossly, not keen on the spoiled little pet venturing up here and threatening his status.

"The Boss wants you and the strongest kobolds downs in his cave," Deekin explained, backing up a submissive step to show the chief respect. "Boss has something important to says." The kobolds looked to each other, then to Chief Arzig. He bore a thoughtful expression--or his best attempt at one--for a silent moment, then nodded and called to his best warriors to follow him into the cave's lower depths. There were quite a lot of them, Deekin noticed; it was no small crowd tagging along as they trod past the poorly scrawled sign marking the passage leading to the lower level.

At the end of the passage was another looming wooden gate, so sized to accustom Tymofarrar, were he to ever leave this way; Chief Arzig confidently pushed this gate aside and strode on in.

"Master Jumper Klumph!" Arzig snapped impatiently. "You lets us through to sees the Boss, yip!" At this order, a bright-eyed gray kobold with a rusted silver rod in hand cast a reluctant look over.

"Yip! We goes over this again and again, you not goes down or Boss gets mad and eats me!" Klumph responded defiantly.

"Grr, you gots no choice!" Arzig barked, motioning furiously to Deekin beside him; Deekin inched back at this. "Me gots weakling singing kobold here, and him says Boss wants us down there, yip yip!" Klumph gave a loud sigh, then walked over and examined Deekin.

"Yip, that be him alright," Klumph decided, walking back to his previous spot and raising the rod in the air. "You hears him, yip yip! You opens up passage and they goes see the Boss!" At this command, several kobolds who had been standing despondantly by raised their heads attentively and strode up a platform, standing in line; Deekin always liked this part, and it had been forever since he'd last seen it.

Hanging above the ground just in front of the platform was a large stone container of sorts, suspended by a rope that was attached to a heavy stone shaped like a human head that blocked the entrance down to the Boss's cave. One after another, the kobolds gave a delighted shriek and leapt into the container, piling on each other; with each added kobold, the container's weight increased and the stone gradually began to rise, finally lifting altogether and allowing entrance into the caves below.

The others raced ahead through the newly opened entrance; Deekin clapped and cheered at the performance briefly, then followed.

Once they were through, the "jumpers" clambered out of the stone container, decreasing its weight again. The stone crashed to the ground with a loud noise that startled Deekin, but he quickly caught himself. There were other, dangerous things in these levels to be concerned with--namely, the Ice Hounds.

The Ice Hounds were half kobold, half white dragon--straight from Tymofarrar's own gene pool, of course. Tymofarrar had specially trained them to be formidable fighters, whose hearts were as cold as their freezing attacks. They stood completely still as Deekin and the kobolds from the higher levels passed by, but he could feel their icy eyes watching them, and shivered. Tymofarrar had instructed them only to ambush those from outside the cave, but Deekin was at great unease in their presence nonetheless, and much relieved once they got past the areas the Ice Hounds mainly dwelled in.

Past this was the cattle pen, where the heads of cattle Tymofarrar fed upon were kept, tended to by an Ice Hound named Klonk "the Freezer". Second only to Deekin, Klonk was one of the Boss's favorite pets, and Deekin couldn't help but feel a burst of rivalry as they went by him.

Traipsing over the thin path of stepping stones that bridged the dank, shallow stream before them, the kobolds at last made it into their master's den. Deekin thought he had been rather quick of it, but Tymofarrar showed express displeasure at having had to wait. He paid Deekin little concern, though; there were more pressing matters at hand.

"You're probably wondering why I called you down here," Tymofarrar started in grandly, though suspecting his conversation was wasted here, as several kobolds' eyes had glazed over in boredom already. With a sigh, he added, "I'll make myself brief.

"Not too far from here lives an old dwarf, named Drogan Droganson. He possesses four magical artifacts: a mask, a dragon's tooth, a mummified hand, and a small, tower-shaped statuette. It is the latter--the tower statue, that is--which I am most interested in. Drogan's home shouldn't be hard to find; he lives on a large farm just outside the town of Hilltop, which is, as the name suggests, atop a hill.

"I want you to sneak into the dwarf's home, take the artifacts and bring them back to me. Deekin, and only Deekin, will carry the tower statue to me. Is that understood?" The kobolds nodded in unison. "Good. Drogan is an experienced wizard, so try to avoid fighting him. However, if you do get yourselves in trouble, you can use this." Using the tips of two talons, Tymofarrar gingerly picked a small dagger off the top of a tall, sawed-off stalagmite and tossed it to the floor before the kobolds. A small puddle of neon green liquid began to drip from the blade, pooling beneath it with an acidic hiss.

"This dagger is laced with with extremely toxic, fast-acting poison," Tymofarrar explained. "It is to be carried by the leader of the expedition. Who that will be, you can settle out amongst yourselves. Now leave me, and organize yourselves for the mission." At this, the dragon turned away disinterestedly.

Chief Arzig bowed anyway and grabbed the dagger by its dark, ornately carved hilt, motioning to the other kobolds.

"Yip! You hears the Boss, we goes now!" he commanded, and was answered by a chorus of yips as the kobolds flowed out of the den, back to the upper level. Deekin lingered.

"Umm, Boss?" he inquired nervously. "You be very sure we shoulds be stealing from dwarf man? That not sounds very nice..."

"Deekin," the dragon said slowly with an agitated flick of his tail, "you're trying my patience."

"Deekin be s-sorry, Boss," Deekin whimpered, cringing fearfully. "Me just--"

"Gather your writing supplies," Tymofarrar interrupted, back still turned to him. "I want you to write about your adventure as you travel. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"Yep...that be what Deekin wants," Deekin replied quietly, mentally adding, "but not likes that." Aloud, he simply stepped over to his corner and gathered up an armful of papers, several inkwells, a dozen pens, some food and water--he didn't know how long this would take--and a leather sack to put it all in. Shouldering the sack and a weathered lute with a leather shoulder strap, he found a small rapier he'd taken off one of Tymofarrar's elven victims long ago, slid it into a sheath and attached it to his belt, then got ready to leave.

"Wait." Tymofarrar instructed. Deekin obediently stopped; turning around, Tymofarrar raised a large, fisted claw above him, then unclasped it. A wrinkled sheet of parchment fluttered down to Deekin from the dragon's scaly white palm, and Deekin caught it. Looking it over, he found it was a map, detailing a shortcut from the Nether Mountains to Drogan's home.

"Thanks, Boss," Deekin said gratefully, folding the map and slipping it into his pack. Tymofarrar didn't respond, so Deekin bowed quickly and left the way the others had.

Deekin started to wish he'd gone with the others, feeling thoroughly unnerved as he passed the Ice Hounds by. Without a group to lose himself in, Deekin was all the Ice Hounds had to set their chilling eyes upon. He was very thankful when at last he reached the back of the stone head blocking the way up, and pounded on it as he called to the others until it lifted and he ducked in beneath it. He would have gone this way earlier, but he wouldn't have been expected, and would've been purposefully ignored if he'd been heard at all.

He arrived in the upper level to find the group was already organized, and was to be led by a smoky-scaled kobold named Urko, who proudly carried the poisonous dagger in a sheath on his belt. When Deekin asked the chief why he wasn't leading them, Arzig answered that he had to watch over the cave while they were gone. Deekin nodded and said nothing more, but it was in his opinion that Chief Arzig was just a coward.

The kobolds going on the expedition were foolhardy in their confidence and anxious to start off as soon as possible, angry with Deekin for making them wait. Deekin apologized and followed them out of the cave, but hoped they were as ready as they thought they were.

But then another part, a guilty part of him, secretly wished they weren't ready at all. He didn't feel right about this...heroes didn't attack or steal from people, unless they were rich, greedy misers who oppressed the poor. Maybe Drogan was a rich, greedy, oppressive miser, Deekin thought hopefully. But he doubted it.

(Well, there you have it. Chapter Two is coming soon. Please review. PLEASE??)


	2. Disaster

(This chapter's a little shorter than the first, but it's more exciting. By the way, in the previous chapter I referred to J'Nah as an elf. In truth, she's a Daemonfey, but odds are Tymofarrar didn't know that. Just thought I'd comment on that. By the way, I'm still desperate for reviews.

Disclaimer: I don't own Neverwinter Nights. See previous chapter for more.

A/N: I'd like to thank Lissette (aka the Unknown Gender), Shadow Lark, and Guan for their reviews. This chapter is devoted to them -)

**Dependence I: Heartsinger**

Chapter Two

After dwelling so long in the cave's cover, the kobolds found themselves blinded by the sun's glare once out in the open. No matter how much they blinked, it was near impossible to see with the snow reflecting sunlight at every angle. They found themselves stumbling through the waist-deep snow--waist-deep on them, that is--but luckily managed to regain most of their vision by the time they got to the narrow pass leading out of the ravine which housed their cave. Most of the kobolds rushed ahead, hot-headed as ever despite the cold, but Deekin pressed himself against the ravine's side and inched his way up, teeth chattering. The other kobolds were getting sick of Deekin's procrastination, but spared no time for a tongue-lashing once Deekin reached the top, and merely continued on.

Deekin hung back just a little bit longer to admire the pale, misty sky and snow-capped mountains towering above him, and took out a sheet of paper, an inkwell and a pen. An impatient yap from somewhere in the group admonished Deekin, who scribbled a quick note on nature's majestic beauty before tucking his writing supplies back in his pack and hurrying to catch up.

After they'd been walking a while, the mountains began to thin out, dwindling until only sprawling hills were left in their stead. Deekin looked about him, then to the map Tymofarrar had given him; he was certain if they turned northwest and kept going, they would make it to Drogan's in no time. But, if Urko kept leading them straight north, they'd never make it. Deekin opted to voice his concerns, and piped up, "Urko, we be goings the wrong way!" There was some mumbling, and the group stopped; being at its back, Deekin didn't catch himself in time and crashed into the kobold before him. The backlashed kobold snarled and glared at him over its shoulder, but Deekin was too busy watching Urko wade through the group towards him to notice.

"Yip! You thinks you knows better than Urko?" Urko prompted, standing on his toes so he could look down on Deekin.

"Well, yes," Deekin replied, unimpressed but unwilling to start a fight, "because Deekin has--"

"You spends all your time in cave!" Urko reprimanded. "Urko and other kobolds is goings out and hunting while you sings for Boss and eats what he doesn't, you lazy kobold, yip yip! Who is you to knows the way better than Urko, yip?"

"Boss gives Deekin map," Deekin responded, showing Urko the map. Incredulous, Urko snatched the map from him, remarked, "Yip, why you not says so earlier?" and perused it, then rolled it up and pointed it eastwards.

"Urko finds shortcut, yip! We goes this way!" Urko declared. More yapping echoed his, and the bunch followed Urko's path. Deekin groaned, but went along anyway--he really didn't feel like being attacked by a pack of angry kobolds right now, and he undoubtedly would be if he challenged Urko's position again.

Of course, with Urko's less-than-competent map-reading skills, it wasn't long before the kobolds found themselves entirely lost, their footprints in the snow the only thing keeping them from becoming entirely disoriented. At last, Deekin managed to convince Urko to give him the the map, and led them in the right direction.

After several hours of desperation, they finally caught sight of Drogan's home, a quaint little place with a large barn, a humble, two-story house, a pack of mangy brown dogs the kobolds did their best to evade, a couple oxen and about two dozen chickens. Deekin winced at how long they'd taken; Tymofarrar would not be pleased with the delay.

"It be now or never!" Urko commanded quietly, racing to the house. "We go gets them artifacts now, yip!" The others crowded closely behind, stopping at the door. A thick lock barred their entry; one kobold took care of that, bringing their heavy staff down upon the lock and neatly breaking it. Someone else twisted the knob, and the door swung in.

The reptilians crept in as silently as they could, though their nails clattered on contact with the wooden floor and betrayed their efforts. Deekin could feel his heart leaping in his throat as he surveyed the small, cozy room, a fireplace on the far wall flickering invitingly. Several kobolds clustered about it to warm themselves, until Urko smacked their heads and reminded them why they came.

Deekin tiptoed about, terrified that they would be discovered any moment, as he tried to locate the artifacts.

"If Deekin were old dwarf, where would he hides magic artifacts?" he muttered to himself, then crashed into a heavy dresser. In response, sleek, mahogany box slid off the top and landed in Deekin's lap before he could pick himself up. Cautiously, Deekin lifted the lid back to reveal a pale, grinning mask, a shriveled hand wrapped in yellowing bandages, a dragon's bulky, rotten tooth and a black statue that looked like a castle tower.

"That works," he remarked, carefully placing the tower statue in his pack and calling the other kobolds over. Urko immediately grabbed the mummified hand, and two kobolds Deekin didn't know pocketed the tooth and the mask. Pleased at having accomplished their mission, the kobolds congratuled themselves and started to leave.

It was then that an old, white-bearded dwarven man pushed through an interior door and stepped into the living room. He looked first at the scaly intruders, then the empty box lying on the floor. He didn't look happy.

"What are you doing with my belongings?" he shouted, raising a withered staff over his head and shaking it menacingly. "Put them back and get out!"

"Aiiieee, we makes it mad!" a kobold squeaked. "Kills it, kills it!"

"No no no, maybe we just runs!" Deekin cried, but no one paid heed. He tried to sneak out the door, but Urko darted in front of it and blocked his way.

"You coward, you fights now, yip!" Urko snapped, grabbing Deekin by the collar and tossing him into the fray. With a groan, Deekin picked himself up from the floor, then rapidly backed away from the battle and hid under a table.

It was a disaster; with his spells, Drogan was more than a match for them, and kobolds were shrieking and collapsing into pools of their own blood left and right. Deekin felt his stomach knot as he saw the more mangled ones. He looked away, and focused on Urko instead. He saw Urko reaching for his belt, and remembered the dagger.

Urko yanked the toxic dagger out of his belt with a splash of poison and rushed over to Drogan, who had encased himself in a bubble of purplish magic. The enchanted barrier was not enough to save him, however, as Urko plunged the dagger through the bubble and into Drogan's side, ripping it back out with a triumphant cry as the dwarf moaned and fell to the ground, the new wound rapidly fizzing and festering. Deekin swallowed nervously at the poor man's predicament, though relieved that the battle was over...wasn't it?

An elven woman wearing a strange medley of metal armor over her clothing suddenly burst through the doorway from outside.

"Run while you can!" she yelled, casting an odd spell and killing off another kobold. Surprised, the kobolds backed away--and bumped into a golden-haired human girl, a black-mustached half-orc and a young dwarven woman that had suddenly appeared from nowhere directly behind them. Kobold blood flew, and those that weren't slain were forced to flee. Making a sound that was a mix of horror and relief, Deekin bolted to the door and left with them.

Once they were out of Drogan's home, the kobolds were too panic-stricken to do much else but dash for dear life, for fear their attackers were still after them. A couple of Drogan's dogs growled viciously, lunged out and attacked some of the kobolds, who shrieked for help but went unheeded as the others continued to run, too concerned with saving their own skins to stop and aid their comrades.

They had been running for a good while up a long, frozen dirt road leading off Drogan's property when Urko announced he was pretty sure they weren't being pursued, and dropped to the ground to rest. The other kobolds did the same, and when their aches were gone enough, they picked themselves up and plodded on at a good pace, after Urko made sure the artifacts were all there.

Before the attack, the kobolds had been laughing and chattering amongst themselves; now, they were silent in remorse for their newly dead. Sadly, they were used to it, for such was the kobold way of life.

By and by, the kobolds reached a hilly rise in the ground, and found themselves to be entering the town of Hilltop.

"Let's go around it," Deekin suggested timidly. "We not needs more trouble, and we already be late."

"Yip, Hurc thinks we shoulds goes through!" argued Hurc, an ashy kobold with a copper tinge to his scales. "We takes too long, yip, so maybe Boss be happy if we stop and loots for him!"

"Yip, me likes Hurc's idea better," Urko decided, and that was that.

Needless to say, this turned into a disaster as well. The townspeople were much stronger than the kobolds gave them credit for, and they ended up losing even more of their numbers as some were killed and others hid in buildings.

Apparently, they hadn't learned from this either, for the lucky kobolds that made it out of the Hilltop catastrophe saw fit to ambush a halfling caravan they encountered outside the town's limit. Not only did they lose any loot they accumulated, they had once again made the drastic mistake of underestimating their foes; the disgruntled halfings chased them to a cliff's edge and surrounded them, pressing them to the brink.

"What we does now?" someone whispered fearfully.

"We makes like jumpers," Urko answered simply, and with a frantic cry backflipped off the cliff, which stood above a body of water. The other kobolds stared after him as though he were insane, but quickly followed suit after one of the halflings bashed in a kobold's head. Deekin watched the others hit the water; then, with a deep breath, he plugged his nostrils and jumped in after them.

The pain as he hit the water was terrible; his stomach panged, and it was all he could do to keep from inhaling until he reached the surface. In addition to that, the water itself was unbearably frigid, and he felt his body numbing little by little as he swam after the others, shivering uncontrollably.

At last they reached shore, clambering thankfully onto dry land and wringing out their clothes. The kobolds that knew magic used fire spells and healing spell to warm and dry them and close their wounds. Finally, they all slumped to the ground in misery. Somehow, Deekin thought as he hugged himself for warmth, "I told you so" just didn't cover it.

(There you have it...I need at least one review before I post Chapter Three, preferably more :D)


	3. A Rough Night

(Well, here it is...Chapter Three. I haven't been slacking off, believe it or not, I HAVE been writing it, but the past few days have been very hectic and I didn't finish it until now. To the questions asked in the reviews, yes, I too am a fan of Tomi Undergallows, and he will be appearing in the second half of the story. As for Tymofarrar, I like him a lot too, but considering Deekin doesn't meet up with him again, it'll be kind of hard to slip him in again. Maybe I'll fit some flashbacks in there, though. As for Xanos, he'll be in it more later on, I promise.

I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed the fic, regardless of whether or not I forced them to do so (sorry about that, Lisie and Lissette). When I had the idea this fic, I had no idea it would be popular, and wasn't even originally going to narrate it from Deekin's point of view. Thanks for supporting me and encouraging me to keep it up, you guys rock! Here's more for you.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of it. Really.)

**Dependence I: Heartsinger**

Chapter Three

The kobolds were huddled about a measly mage-fire which threatened to die off at every puff of wind, keeping the magic-wielders constantly working. Night had fallen while they were swimming from the halflings' wrath, which meant no sun to warm the frozen environment. In addition to that, they hadn't been very well-prepared after all, so most were starving as well as freezing.

One kobold--who had a prominent icicle forming on the tip of his snout--clutched his empty stomach and bawled, "Me NEVERS be so miserable, EVERS, and it be all Urko's fault, yip!" A glare as icy as the weather overtook Urko's eyes, turned in the complainer's direction. Standing up, Urko contrived to concoct a retort, failed, and yipped angrily as he aimed a kick at the complainer. However, the day's events had left him out-of-sorts, and he kicked the fire instead.

"Me foot, yipe yipe, me foot!" Urko yelped, yanking the burnt foot out and patting his roasted toes in the snow until they cooled. Unfortunately, this mishap stamped out the fire, leaving them with only a blackened pit in the ground to solace themselves. Many dozens of eyes regarded Urko coolly; straightening himself, Urko attempted to save his pride and standing in the group by saying they should be getting back to the caves anyway, and started off again. With a resonation of resigned sighs, the bunch gradually got to their feet and trailed after.

Deekin was the last to get up, having been writing by the fire. The process had been trying, on account of he couldn't feel his fingers, but it had taken his mind off his troubles somewhat, and allowed him to vent his vexation at the stupid, reckless creatures he was forced to travel with. Punctuating a final sentence, he smiled satifactorily, tucked his writing supplies back in his pack (after profusely thanking the ink for not turning into a solid block of ice), and resumed walking after the others.

Now that he was up and moving again, Deekin's blood flow piqued and warmed him, and he was able to more fully appreciate his surroundings. The snow, though a poetic shade of lily-white in the light of the half-hidden moon, was overly abundant and widely uninterrupted for miles, so it soon grew tedious. The stars, however, were miraculous; having spent almost his entire life cooped up in a cave, Deekin found the the night sky a rare and breathtaking sight. Staring up at the twinkling beacons and trying to identify constellations he'd only read about was great fun, and well worth stumbling over every other rock, kobold, or some other obstacle he failed to notice. Despite the biting cold and the evil eye increasingly more kobolds were giving him, Deekin was enjoying himself for the first time since they left the caves, and he wasn't about to stop stargazing just yet.

A sudden deep, throaty growl from ahead caught Deekin's attention, drawing it to a pack of odd, hairy creatures, who stood on their hind legs and possessed equally sharp sets of teeth and claws, their dark tails swishing impatiently. They resembled a strange cross between a human and a hyena, and each was twice the size of a single kobold and at least five times as strong. These intimidating creatures were called gnolls, were every bit as aggressive and dangerous as they looked, and were standing right in front of the kobolds. Deekin didn't feel like stargazing anymore.

The largest gnoll--the leader, apparently--lurched forward and demanded in a low, chilling voice, "Who is in charge here?"

"That be me," Urko replied, bravely stepping apart from the rest. The gnolls' leader snorted derisively at the scaly little thing's spunk, then growled again.

Surveying the gnolls' tense stances, Deekin nervously realized the beasts were just barely restraining themselves from attacking. If the gnolls attacked, the kobolds were good as dead; Deekin prayed Urko wouldn't say or do anything stupid.

"Grr, Urko gots weapon and nots be afraid to use it!" Urko threatened, unsheathing the poisonous dagger and cutting arcs through the air, trying to fend the gnolls off. The head gnoll easily reached down, wrenched the dagger from his grip and flung it far away. Many kobolds began shivering in terror; Deekin slapped his forehead and silently asked the gods why they hated him so.

Fortunately, the head gnoll seemed unperturbed by this act of defiance, and continued to address them in his gravelly voice.

"Your master made a deal with J'Nah, our...master," the gnoll told them, grimacing when he said "master" as though the word was a chunk of maggot-ridden meat he was loathe to taste. "We have come to collect her part of the bargain: the tower statue." Deekin's eyes widened at this.

"Nopes," Urko said firmly, crossing his spindly arms and shaking his head. "We no does that, yip. Boss tells us we brings tower statue to him, yip, and he be scarier than you." The leading gnoll's face fell, along with all civil fronts. In a flash, he snatched Urko by the torso and tossed him a great distance. Soaring over the heads of his fellows, Urko whined pathetically before smashing headlong into the ground.

"Then we'll take the statue from your lifeless bodies!" the gnoll leader snarled, and with a series of guttural bellows the canine beasts assailed them.

Deekin dashed away in horror, then tripped as something grabbed him by the ankle.

"No," Urko huffed, pushing himself up and giving Deekin a pointed glare, still latched onto his ankle."You stays. You fights, yip."

"But...but Deekin gots to hides statue!" Deekin protested, pulling his foot free. He glanced over at the battle before he started running again, and was surprised to see that working in compact squads, the kobolds had already taken down several gnolls; the fight must have been easier when they could anticipate their opponents' strength.

Nevertheless, for every gnoll corpse there were at least five kobold corpses--they were definately losing. Deekin bolted.

"Deekin gonna make it," he panted to himself. "Deekin gonna make it...Deekin gonna--" He cut himself off as a gnoll seized him by the leg, suspending him upside-down above the ground. Panicking, Deekin recalled an incantation Tymofarrar had taught him. Focusing as well as he could in this awkward position, he rapidly prepared the spell, twisted himself upwards at the waist, shoved his hand in the gnoll's face and cast "Color Spray".

The conjuration caught the gnoll completely off-guard; temporarily blinded by the burst of shimmering colors, it grunted in dismay and staggered backwards, dropping Deekin with a sickening **_CRUNCH._**

Ignoring the unpleasant sound and abrupt back pain, Deekin leapt to his feet and nabbed a crossbow and a quiver of bolts off a nearby kobold corpse. The gnoll blinked and recovered its sight just in time to see a small green kobold launch a bolt between its eyes.

Deekin cheered quietly as the gnoll fell, blood and brains oozing out the back of its skull, then looked back over to the main battle. The other kobolds were retreating into a gray stone building he hadn't noticed before, and for some reason the gnolls weren't following. Shoving the crossbow in his pack and scampering as quickly as a small reptilian laden with a heavy pack and an oversized crossbow could, Deekin sped past the gnolls into the building, shut the door tightly behind him, spaced himself well away from it, and slumped to the floor to regain some energy as his eyes wandered the room, stopping on one kobold of the two dozen crammed in there.

"Urko," he asked tentatively, "you still be alive?"

"Grr, no thanks to you," Urko grumbled, rubbing his sore neck and swiping at a bat that swooped down too close to his face, then gave Deekin a critical expression. "You not lets gnolls gets statue, yip?" Deekin shook his head.

"Nopes, Deekin still gots it," he replied, patting his pack lightly and gazing about the dusty, dark stone room they now inhabited, generously cloaked with cobwebs and resting bats. "Umm...where we be, anyways?"

"Who cares?" Urko asked carelessly, then ambled down a couple of steps at the back of the room and, with the aid of a few other kobolds, pushed open a heavy stone door leading further in. Before slipping past it, he added, "All that matters is that there be no gnolls heres, yip. Now let's finds good hidings spot and hopes it stays that way." The other kobolds agreed and went in after him, Deekin among them.

As they descended, the area grew darker. Cave-dwellers as they were, this in itself didn't bother them, and their eyes swiftly adjusted to the low light levels. What did unnerve them were the ear-shattering screams which echoed throughout the place.

Doing their best to disregard the fear-inspiring wails, the kobold clustered together and held their weapons at ready. The beady eyes of rats gleamed eerily at them from the shadows, but the rodents stayed where they were, wise enough not to attack when the reptilians were all together.

Carefully, the kobolds edged their way around a tall stone column with curious symbols carved along its length, and made it to the door.

"Deekin wonders if this be haunted crypt," Deekin pondered thoughtfully in a hushed tone as Urko and some others heaved this door open as well.

Padding softly through the aged halls, the stifling silence broken only when they trod upon the long-dry bones which littered the floor, the kobolds meandered their way deeper into the place.

"Yip, looks at this!" one kobold piped up suddenly, causing more than a few to jump.

"What you wants?" Urko hissed at the speaker, who pointed to a pile of fat red rubies laying on the floor. The other kobolds scrambled to gather them, but Deekin hung back. Something wasn't right...

Then, right before Deekin's very eyes, the scattered, broken bones upon the floor reassembled themselves into whole skeletons, various rusted weapons flying into their brittle gray hands.

"Now Deekin knows this be haunted crypt!" he yiped, alerting the others. Eyes widening in disbelieving horror, they shrieked and ran; swinging their weapons and lopping off unlucky heads, the skeletons gave chase.

It seemed to go on forever for Deekin, pursued into the crypt's dark depths, winding through one damp, musty passage after another, losing some skeletons only to have more join the hellish, undead ranks.

At last, the kobolds fled into an open, empty room and slammed the door shut behind them, wheezing from exertion, with long pauses between inhales to listen and ascertain the undead were unable to get at them.

"We...we rests now, maybe?" Deekin inquired, catching his breath. Without looking over, Urko nodded.

"Yes, yip...we rests now."

(Tune in again soon for the next suspenseful chapter! And please, keep those reviews coming.)


	4. Sunrise

(Here it is, Chapter Four. I'm disappointed that many of the people who reviewed before didn't review the last chapter, but because some kind individuals did, I'm posting this chapter anyway. Next chapter, the PC is introduced and the story really starts to take off I won't let ANYONE kill Deekin, I promise.. Please enjoy this chapter, and rememebr to keep reviewing--I can't write without reviews, you know.

Note: For those who aren't in the know, a paladin is like a knight, but devoted to their god and doing good.

Disclaimer: Sadly, I still don't own anything.)

**Dependence I: Heartsinger**

Chapter Four

The kobolds had been trapped in that small room of the crypt for some time now. In that lapse of time, they had pushed several old crates into the center of the room. Appointing two other kobolds to be his guards and stand at his sides, Urko situated himself in the middle of the half-square the crates formed and declared it his throne. Deekin supposed this was Urko's method of dealing with stress, and Urko was very stressed right then, especially after discovering they'd lost the mask and the dragon tooth in the gnoll battle.

The kobolds flanking Urko were a female kobold called Yazka and a male kobold called Kipper, so named for his odd habit of kipping instead of yipping. Deekin, of course, didn't yip or kip at all. Long ago, when Deekin was new to living in Tymofarrar's den, the dragon had blatantly stated that if Deekin yipped one more time, there would be one more headless kobold in the world, which had quickly cured him of producing any such noises. By now, Deekin was glad he didn't yip, and looked down on the others a little for doing so. After all, great heroes didn't yap like dogs.

Under Urko's command, the kobolds made themselves a miniscule society. A crack in one wall leaked fresh groundwater for them to drink, and several large rats had sneaked in only to be killed and turned into kobold food. These rations were adequate for their much diminished numbers; Deekin estimated they had started out with perhaps one hundred kobolds, but now he only counted seventeen. Thinking about this and other things, Deekin got out his writing supplies and started to chronicle all that had happened since he last wrote. For all the panic and danger, at least he was still alive, and it was something to write about. Tymofarrar had a cruel sense of humor, so he'd most likely enjoy reading about it.

Deekin paused mid-sentence to ponder about the gnolls. They had mentioned the tower statue being part of Tymofarrar's deal with J'Nah...were the gnolls lying, or had the Boss broken his bargain? Deekin wouldn't put it past him; Tymofarrar had little respect for non-dragons. It really didn't matter...what was done was done, he hoped.

His thoughts were interrupted when a thin, scaly finger jabbed him in the shoulder.

"You needs something?" Deekin asked politely, though he disliked being prodded. The kobold who had poked him was one of Urko's guards, Yazka.

"You plays music, and we alls be very bored and worried, yip, so we hopes you plays for us," she requested. Deekin blinked in surprise, then nodded, smiled and took his lute by its strap, pulling it off his shoulder. The lute was a little damaged from the previous battles and still had some water in it, but it was a sturdy instrument and in good enough condition.

"Yep, me plays," he assented, carefully tuning the taut strings and racking his brain for a suitable song. These were simpletons, he told himself; they would appreciate an intrepid war ballad or a romantic serenade some long-dead hero crooned to his sweetheart. Finally, he recalled an appropriate tune and began plucking the string in sync to it as he sang:

"Once there be a valiant steed

And ons it rode a paladin

In a suit of shining armor

Who always says, 'Me be greatest pally-din of kingdom of...um, Deekin forgets, it be Something-din'

One days the king of a noble land

Calleds out far and wides

For some nice adventurer

To takes his daughter's hand--"

"Yip, why woulds king wants someone to cuts off his daughter's hand?" a kobold cut in quizzically.

"They means to takes her hand in marriage," Deekin explained.

"Oh..." After a thoughtful moment, the same kobold asked, "What be marriage, yip?" Deekin sighed, closed his eyes to think how to phrase this, and opened them again.

"Marriage be when two peoples loves each others and says they be togethers forever," he responded, adding quickly as the clueless kobold started to open his mouth again, "but it be official. Now you listens to song, okies?" With that, he cleared his throat, repositioned his fingers on the strings and continued:

"So paladin responds to call and goes to sees the king,

But king says paladin gots to get rids of poltergeist (which be mean, messy ghost)

Before he marries king's daughter

Paladin listens and thinks he be gypped, but he goes anyways.

So paladin rides on valiant steed to where the poltergeist be

And he asks the poltergeist to leaves.

But poltergeist says he be havings too much fun to quits

And he makes lots of noises and bangs on paladin's head.

The paladin be gettings mad and says so

But poltergeist just laughs more at paladin

Then scratches paladin's armor

And paladin gets really mad

Paladin says, 'You shoulds leaves this world!'

And shakes his fist and tells him

'So you goes to other world and rests peacefully,

Or me makes you go!'

Poltergeist just laughs and says,

'Me not be afraids of some pally-din

Who comes in actings all spiffy

But if you lets me finishes making big din,

Me leaves and rests all peaceful-like in a jiffy!'

Paladin is happy at this, so he says okies,

And he waits and waits for poltergeist to be dones

But poltergeist makes noise for fifty years

Until one day he be done.

Poltergeist says, 'Thanks for waiting, me soul be saved'

And he floats up to heavens

But paladin be dead too now, and so used to noise he misses it

So he picks up stuffs and clangs it all togethers

That paladin still makes noise todays,

And they says if you stands outside his haunt and stays,

You can hears him says,

'Me be greatest poltergeist of greatest pally-din of greatest kingdom of...erm, Someplace-din

And me makes biggest, holiest din!'"

Many of the kobolds laughed at the end, which pleased Deekin greatly as he slung the lute back over his shoulder, though he disliked his own performance. The original version had ryhmed beautifully, and had been filled with lots of clever, sarcastic humor. He found his own rendition, on the other hand, to be choppy and poorly-versed. It mattered little, though; the original version's cutting satire would have been lost on this crowd anyway.

Breaking Deekin's thoughts yet again, one kobold questioned, "Yip, whatever happens to paladin's horse?"

"Umm, Deekin not knows," Deekin answered, scratching his head, careful to avoid gouging his palm on his own short horns. "The song never says."

"Maybe paladin gets hungry and eats it, kip kip," Kipper suggested. "Kipper hads to do that once, but horse not tastes real good, kip."

"Maybe," said Deekin, but he didn't think that was what happened at all.

"Well, whatever happens to horse, Deekin sings good song, yip," Yazka avered, and most of the kobolds seemed to agree. Deekin looked shyly down at his feet, which scratched lightly at the ground, but was happy with the attention.

A kobold somewhere in the group outstretched its arms and yawned, "We goes to sleeps now, yip?"

"Yep, yip...sleep sounds good," Urko nodded, barely awake himself. It wasn't long after that every kobold in the room was curled up on the floor to get in some much-needed shut-eye. Soon, the sounds of steady breathing filled room, and Deekin found himself to be the only one awake. He tried to sleep, but the day's events repeated themselves unrelentingly in his head and would not permit it. To make matters worse, the unearthly screaming had started in again, low enough it didn't wake the others, but loudly enough Deekin heard it and shivered.

He had to get out of there.

Getting to his feet, Deekin found his backpack and replaced it on his shoulder, then weighed his options. He could stay here, and with Urko as the leader, either spend the rest of his life in this little room or meet his demise at the hands of some undead Urko had irked. It was a stroke of luck Deekin was still alive, and he didn't want to push his luck any more than was necessary. His mind made up, Deekin snuck over to the door and pushed it open.

Shoving the door closed behind him and stepping out into the halls, he found them to be once again deathly still. His pace was slow and cautious as he set off through the catacombs, so as not to disturb anything more than the dust on the ground. So long as he didn't anger the spirits of the crypt, he should be safe.

Thankfully, his theory proved correct, and his trip throughout the tomb was met mostly without resistance, with the exception of the starved rats which lunged from the shadows at opportune intervals, but he managed to outrun them. The way in had been a terrifying and torturously long maze; but, following the disruptions in the dust back to the entrance, he found his way out much more briefly. At last, he was able to exit the accursed mausoleum once and for all.

The cool, fresh air was heaven to Deekin's lungs, a welcome change from the musty, stagnant atmosphere of the crypt. Some bats fluttered out of the crypt and into the purple twilight sky; he had spent a good part of the night in the tomb. He looked about, but the living gnolls had left, their dead brethren and the blood-ridden snow the only signs they had been there. The only living creature he could see was a lone elf by a fire in the distance, but he paid the creature little notice as he looked about for danger, then wondered where he should go. He could go home, to the Nether Mountains...or, he could do what he always wanted to do, and wander free. It was a no-brainer. He chose to wander.

Deekin wasn't quite certain WHERE he was going, really, only that he was free. Not really free, of course; Tymofarrar could easily find him if he wanted to, and the repercussions would undoubtedly be harsh. But he wasn't worried about that now. Now, the miles of snow which stretched out in every direction beckoned for him to journey. Now, the sun lifted itself off the horizon with a burst of vibrant, swirling colors, turning the pearly sheets of icy snow many rosy shades. Now, Deekin smiled, for now, he was free.

Eventually, Deekin stopped beneath a small, wizened tree and opened the flap of his pack. Not only did he want to write about his escape from the crypt, but hunger gnawed beggingly at his stomach, and he was anxious to get at some food. There was some dried meat packed far down at the bottom that he had put there before they left the cave. It was just past his writing supplies and beside the crossbow, and a little further down, right beneath the...the...

The tower statue?

Oh, no. No, no, no, Deekin thought, his stomach sinking and hastily losing its appetite as he looked down in horror at the shattered, black stone remains of the statue, bringing a chunk close to his face and remembering the **_CRUNCH_** he'd heard when the gnoll dropped him on his back. No, no, no. This couldn't be...it COULDN'T...Tymofarrar would be mad. Mad, mad, mad. Deekin had seen him mad, and little bits of those who had angered the dragon were plastered to the den's walls still. Why? Deekin asked himself, huddling in fear as he envisioned his own, grisly death. Why?

Something shone at the bottom of the pack amidst the meat jerky, catching Deekin's eye. Deekin curiously reached a small green hand into the pack, fishing around in the meat and withdrawing a spherical crystal which shone brilliantly in the dawn's light. Refracting the red sun's glow into rainbowed rays like a prism, the crystal was truly a glorious, colorful spectacle. A faint smile edged at the corners of Deekin's mouth; ever-so-gently, he wrapped the crystal and bits of the statue in a fleecy cloth napkin and set the bundle back in. That crystal looked pretty valuable, Deekin decided...maybe, maybe the Boss would be satisfied with that. But, maybe he wouldn't, and the smile faded as quickly as it had come at this notion. Deekin closed the pack and put it back on. He had no idea how Tymofarrar would react, and he was too afraid to find out. He had to keep moving. He didn't dare to go back now.

After a while, Deekin came upon the entrance to a small town. "Blumberg", a sign boasted in fancy letters. Deekin knew of Blumberg. Once, back when he lived with Tymofarrar, the dragon had put on a human disguise and ventured out of the cave. Deekin had followed him, all the way into Blumberg to a small pie shop. Sadly, the pie shop had closed, and Tymofarrar lingered miserably in front of it for a minute or so before angrily stomping back to his cave. Deekin darted ahead and made it back to the den just before Tymofarrar did. It was a good thing Deekin had apt warning;Tymofarrar had been in a bad mood the rest of the day.

Now, recalling this incident, Deekin wondered if the shop was still closed. If it was, the abandoned store would be a perfect place to stay. He'd just have to sneak past the villagers without making a scene first.

The feat was difficult, but manageable, by darting from behind one building to another. Fortunately, the people of Blumberg weren't the most observant, and no one noticed when he at last spied the shop and ducked behind it. Panting softly, Deekin looked at the back of the building. It was a quaint little building, rounded and set half-way underground. There was a small door in its back, nailed over with boards. Deekin prised them off, pulled the door open a slat and squeezed in through the opening, yanking it closed behind him and raising a storm of dust. Deekin coughed and blinked through it, then looked about the shop. It was definitely abandoned, entirely layered with a film of dust and dark, the only light a lucid ray coming in through a small window beside the front door and illuminating the sad state of things.

Deekin stood and thought a moment as he inspected his surroundings, a floorboard squeaking beneath his foot. He cast a downward gaze at it and shifted his weight alternately to the foot on that board, which squealed irritably in reply, lifting a crack with every movement. An idea occurred to him; he took off his pack, pulled out the napkin holding the broken tower statue, and hid it under the floorboard, then stepped back and admired how inconspicuous it was. If he was the only one who knew where the statue was, Tymofarrar couldn't kill him. Satisfied, Deekin removed his pack and dropped it in a corner, fluffing it like a pillow before flopping down on it and curling up. The lost sleep was beginning to catch up to him. With a yawn, he closed his eyes and drifted off into slumber.

(Will Deekin be okay? How long will his freedom last? Will Tymofarrar go easy on him? All this and more, in Chapter Five! Don't forget to review, for Deekin's sake and mine.)


	5. Following

(Well, here it is. Chapter Five. Sorry it took so long, but my birthday came up and I got awesome gifts to distract myself with, my Grandma moved in and we had to get her set up, writer's block struck, etc. This is the longest and best chapter yet, the real start of the story. Remember to review; the reviews are my lifeblood, and without lifeblood, I'm too weak to write. This chapter is dedicated to all the people who reviewed last chapter. I'm hard at work on Chapter Six as we speak, but I'll work harder if I get reviews.

Review, darnit.

Note: This chapter is gorier than the previous chapters, and because of this the fic has been rated PG-13.

Disclaimer: Bioware, Floodgate Entertainment, Wizards of the Coast, Forbidden Realms, Dungeons & Dragons, and Atari all turned down my offer of two nickels and a lintball, so I still don't own Neverwinter Nights.)

* * *

Chapter Five

Deekin was awakened by a loud noise. No, he realized as he came to completely and listened, many loud noises. The sounds of things being bashed, rough voices shouting, and blood-curdling shrieks ripped through the evening. The kobold sat stunned for a moment, then scrambled to his feet and stood beneath the window, realizing he was too short to see out of it. Surveying the room, he found a chair so filthy its oaken surface had turned dark gray and dragged it over to the window, then hopped up partially onto it, testing its strength before pulling himself up all the way. The window, too, was covered in grime, so he rubbed a spot on the glass clean with his patchy shirt and peered through it.

The sight Deekin was met with filled him with dread. The entire village was being demolished before his eyes; flames licked at the houses, people moaned and writhed in the frozen dirt. A hen and her chicks had been toppled in line, dogs choked on their own blood and fell to the ground, and there were oxen strewn here and there for good measure. Blood soaked the snow, the fires roared louder and leapt higher, and the gnolls were there amidst it all, laughing as they hacked apart the innocent.

The people that hadn't been brutally slain were being led away in chains by the gnolls, to be kept as slaves or food in the creatures' home caves, perhaps both. The gnolls themselves were merry and bright, chuckling to themselves and wagging their tails.

Deekin slunk down off the chair, his heart hanging heavy in his chest. What could he do? The screams beat against his ears as he shut his eyes tight. A hero would go out...a hero would punish the gnolls for what they were doing--Deekin cringed as he heard a woman's pained yell even now. A hero would be brave...a hero would do what was right...

Deekin crunched himself into a tight ball, tail tucked under and face pressed into his knees. He wasn't brave...he wasn't strong enough to go out and do something...he'd only be killed himself. He was no hero...but maybe...he brought himself back up to feet and climbed back onto the chair, wincing at the horrid scene outside. He knew a few spells...Tymofarrar had trained him...he was terrified, and the gnolls would undoubtedly tear him to shreds, but maybe he could go out and do somethin--

Deekin yelped and toppled backward out of his chair as a hairy, grinning gnoll face filled the window. Licking the blood off the matted fur around its mouth, the gnoll punched a muscular arm through the frail glass window and grasped for Deekin with its filthy, stout-fingered paw. Eyes widening and pupils dilating to slits in fright, Deekin crawled backward across the dusty floor until he hit the opposite wall, trembling as the gnoll shouted curses at him in its velar native tongue. Realizing it wasn't going to be able to reach him clear across the room, the gnoll withdrew its arm and left. Deekin's fear quelled for an instant, then restated itself a moment later when the same gnoll began pounding on the door.

"Come on out of there, kobold!" the gnoll growled threateningly, and started chopping through the wood with an axe when Deekin didn't comply. Deekin began to quiver uncontrollably as the blade hewed the door, whack by whack by whack, until the door was as full of holes as that slice of cheese Tymofarrar had given him once. All the gnoll had to do now was kick it in...Deekin shut his eyes tight and braced himself for a painful death...

...then opened them again when the pounding abruptly stopped and nothing came in. There was gagging, and the sound of something heavy hitting the ground, then silence for a brief period. This was quickly broken by the sound of screaming--gnoll screaming. Wary but intrigued, he scrambled back up onto the chair and slowly raised himself up to the shattered window.

A gnoll staggered and collapsed a short space from the window, clutching its bleeding sides and shuddering before lying still. Beyond it, a few more were doing the same, while others ran for their lives, cursing in frustration. Those that hadn't fallen or fled were fighting a...a...well, Deekin wasn't quite sure what it was. The gnolls' opponent had humanoid shape and height and was clothed in a charcoal-gray robe, its face completely hidden by the dark shadows its hood cast. In each hand the fighter carried a longsword surrounded by a brilliant white aura, and used the identical weaponry to slice through flesh and bone as easily as it would through churned mud.

The melee gnoll fighters were soon completely massacred, the others keeping a safe distance as they fired flaming arrows into their strange new foe, who didn't seem to care that several arrows were now sticking out of its arms and torso. It didn't seem to be bleeding, either, but that could have been the dark fabric fooling Deekin's eyes. Sliding the swords into criss-crossed sheaths on its back, the stranger murmured something in a low voice and moved its hands in careful arcs. In response, a fleet of arrow-shaped fireballs came from nowhere and struck the remaining gnolls dead as the rest. The figure stood still a moment, to ascertain the gnolls had indeed perished, then began checking the buildings for survivors.

The hooded figure searched most of the houses, but found no living occupants despite its best efforts, splashing snow on the fires to extinguish them. Deekin watched it work in stunned silence, relieved and impressed at what short work it had made of the gnolls. This was a true hero. Unfortunately, the hero was headed right this way, and would probably treat a kobold as kindly as it had treated the gnolls. Deekin scurried under a long-forgotten desk, brushing the dirt-clogged cobwebs draped beneath it aside with the back of his hand, then quieted his breathing as much as he could and listened.

The door creaked open, and he could hear the stranger stepping inside. It stopped, and fell silent; Deekin held his breath so as not to be heard in this sudden hush. At last the stranger stepped back out and brought the door closed after it, and Deekin let out his breath in one relieved sigh. He pushed back through the soiled webbing and stood up, plucking a disgruntled black spider off his snout and letting it fall to the ground, where it scurried back to its ruined web.

Brushing the filth off his faded brown pants and tunic, Deekin gazed about warily out of habit before scurrying over to the front door. There were several footprints in the dust, disturbed by feet larger than his own but slimmer in proportion, with the leftover whisks of a long robe about and over them. Deekin turned up his eyes, trailing to the door. Gaps from the gnoll's siege marred it yet, light streaming through onto the powdered floor. Deekin still wore his pack; slowly, he twisted the knob and inclined the wearied door to open. He blinked his eyes against the full shine of an early, snow-blanketed day, disrupted by bloody corpses and fallen buildings. He was careful to avoid them, following closely after those same slim footprints he'd seen in the shop, following them out of Blumberg--once out, he could at least breathe easy, or easier, as he continued his self-determined quest. He was going to follow the hero.

Why? he asked himself, playfully hopping in and out of the footprints, in lighter spirits upon leaving the village. His own reply: Why not? This was a hero, after all; the real, genuine article. A right-doer, a preserver of the peace, a champion, a savior, a...a...Deekin was too excited to think up another simile, so instead entertained himself by leaping through four prints in a row before misjudging the stretch to the next footprint and falling flat on his face in the snow. He shivered at the sudden chill and wiped the slush away, getting to his feet and ambling along again. That hooded hero was the same sort of person Deekin had read about and admired so many times before; he was intrigued and enchanted by it, whoever it was, and whatever secrets it hid. What could possibly be more interesting than following this mysterious, bonafide hero around and chronicling their adventures? At the rate things were going, he queasily guessed he probably wouldn't live much longer, so he might as well enjoy what little time he had.

He walked on for quite a while, but though its footprints were ever present, the hooded figure was nowhere to be seen. Not only did it easily outstride him on its longer legs, but it never slowed its pace or stopped to rest, to Deekin's dismay, for going on at such a steady pace was taking its toll on him, especially after all his poor body had been through as of late. Fortunately, his resiliance paid off, and at last the stranger came into sight before he grew too winded. Upon reaching it, he saw what had halted it--a troll. A dozen trolls, actually, though by now all but four were lying pathetically on the ground, near death if not past it. The stranger swiftly finished and won the fight, and went on as Deekin regained some energy and followed.

Despite his best efforts, the kobold found himself straggling behind. Luckily, the stranger was slowing down somewhat, though not from exhaustion, as he could tell from its smooth pace. Deekin noticed they were wandering into an area with a few pine trees sprouting here and there. The further they went, the more trees grew, blending together into a forest.

The High Forest, he realized, and felt his gut sink for the umpteenth time lately. The hero was going after the gnolls, and had slowed so it wouldn't be heard by keen gnoll ears. Though he couldn't afford to slow, Deekin tried to quiet his gasps for air and the thudding of his feet on the thinly frosted ground, hoping his fast-beating heart would not betray him. The gnolls...his death was soon and inevitable the way it was, and he didn't wish to hasten it. And yet, this brave individual was going after the gnolls to make them pay for their crimes and free the slaves they'd taken--someone had to tell its story, Deekin decided firmly, and kept on.

They trekked on. The snow was extremely shallow in this area, but frost clung in intricate white designs to the towering, sappy red trunks of the evergreens around them. Deekin suppressed any verbal complaints as he mistakenly trod upon the sharp green needles which littered the forest floor; wordlessly, he plucked the needles out of his numb feet, then looked to the imposing figure ahead and concentrated on it. At some point when Deekin was still far behind, the stranger had yanked the arrows out of its back and front, and its clothing bore no holes for the wear. This momentarily drew Deekin's curiosity to the robe itself.

The garment was a dark shade of gray, large and covering, with red and purple embroidery running along the rims of the sleeves, the hemline, and the sewn-in shawl collar. Deekin remembered reading about this sort of robe; it was called a Robe of Vecna, because Vecna, the God of Secrets, gave them out to his followers. This didn't surprise Deekin--whoever was hiding under the robe was full of secrets.

Deekin wondered what those secrets could be.

He didn't have much more time to wonder about this, as just then the hero was attacked by more trolls, as well as a couple of irritated brown bears. Deekin slipped out of their sight behind a thick, sticky pine tree trunk and watched the battle.

The stranger started with the troll at its right, striking each of the troll's eyes with a glowing blade and yanking down through the cheeks and out the jaws. The troll moaned and held its bleeding face, giving the hero enough time to slash through the monster's midsection. This wasn't enough to do it, as trolls are abnormally resistant to being hacked apart, but a fast slice through the beast's heart ended it. Immediately after this the hero spun about and wrenched the neck of the troll that had been sneaking up from behind, then chopped through its chest and halved a vital organ, killing this troll as well. The third troll was subjected to having its head removed and tossed aside--it landed too close to Deekin's hiding spot for comfort--and was subsequently stabbed in enough places it gave up and died as well.

The bears were hardly a match for the stranger, who brought one down with a single swipe of the sword, and the fallen's companion fled with a whimper. The fight over, the once-again victor tucked away its swords into the criss-crossed sheaths at its back, over which a dark, frayed woolen pack was slung. It began walking again, Deekin close behind; whoever this secretive person was, he found them more than worthy of his utmost admiration.

They walked on still longer, Deekin ever lagging behind at a safe distance while simultaneously struggling to keep up with the stranger's longer legs, the difficulty of this feat increased manyfold by the numbness of his limbs. There was more cold, more trees, more fights--not just with territorial trolls and bears, but feral wolves and human bandits as well--for a repetitive while, Deekin's idolization of the mysterious figure growing with every step, when they came upon an alcove in the side of a small hill. Blood, discarded shackles and gnoll footprints surrounded it; they had found the opening of the gnoll caves. The hero went in without a second thought, but Deekin didn't dare. He couldn't hope to last a second in those caves, he'd be torn apart by vicious gnoll teeth the moment he entered! But he couldn't go back either, not without the hero to clear the way. Either way, he was doomed, so he stood there in indecision and shivered, losing more feeling in his extremities with every passing moment.

Switching his head to the side to revive his neck, he could make out a large, sharp-angled shape in the distance. It was a house--no, a grand mansion, situated all the way out here! No matter what it was doing here, just so long as it was here to save him from the bitter weather, Deekin thought as he tromped toward it, then stopped at the shore of an iced-over lake that separated him from the establishment. A network of connected docks bridged the gap, fortunately; he wasn't up to testing his weight by tripping across the ice, so he scampered over the docks gratefully.

Once there, he paused briefly to examine the mansion, constructed of rosy bricks. The roof was composed of shingles, originally dark green like the shutters, but muted by frost and ice to the shade of new spring leaves where it wasn't obliterated by the white of snow. The windows glinted out at the world like eyes, but Deekin disregarded their glare as he pressed himself against the structure's side and dug a trench down in the snow, lined it with some cloth napkins, and hunkered down. This set-up worked surprisingly well; without the wind chill to bring down his body temperature, the cold seeped away somewhat and he regained feeling in his limbs, snout and tail. Rubbing his shoulders for warmth, Deekin gazed across the frozen waters to the entrance to the gnoll caves and focused on it. The hero had to come out sooner or later; he just had to keep his eyes fixed on that spot until then. Warmed and relaxed, Deekin remembered his hunger and treated himself to a bit of dried meat, chewing on the jerky thoughtfully as he kept diligent watch.

For a moment, the thought crossed his mind that perhaps the stranger wouldn't make it out alive, but he quickly shook his head of such fallacies. The hero would make it through, he knew it. Confident, Deekin continued to keep vigil.

He waited there for a time, the warmth in his body waxing and waning. He was getting very bored, just staring at the entrance of the gnoll caves, and would have much rather been writing--but if he lowered his gaze to write, the hero might leave without him noticing. So he kept at it faithfully, despite the passage of hours.

At last, a familiar hooded figure rose from the cave's depths, along with Deekin's hope. Excited and eager to resume traveling, the kobold tugged his pack back over his shoulders and hopped out of the rut, shivering at the shock of the abrupt wind chill as he sprinted forth, careful to wait for the hero to turn in another direction and walk away before he skittered off down the docks. Making it to the other side, Deekin saw that the stranger had already ambled out of sight, and summoned a burst of energy to catch up. Resting in the ditch had done him good; it was much easier to keep up to the hero now.

Just as before, they wound their way through the forest, but were met with far fewer encounters this time, most potential foes either dead or in hiding. This made things much briefer, and before long the trees began to thin out again, until at last they had exited the High Forest. Deekin sighed in relief--then found he was out in the open. In a fit of panic, he flopped down in the snow and tried to cover himself in it. Ironically, this only attracted the hooded one's attention. The stranger turned about neatly, strode over, plucked Deekin out of the snow, and set him back down. Deekin chanced a look at the hero, who loomed intimidatingly over him; with a nervous swallow, he found his feet were a preferable sight.

"Why are you following me?" the hero asked in a deep voice, each word spoken with clarity. Despite its depth, the voice was not masculine; the hero was female. Up close, Deekin saw that it hadn't been the shadows fooling his eyes earlier--her skin was purely black, without a cast of blue or brown or any other color. Her eyes and hair were entirely hidden from view beneath the hood, though a narrow nose, thin lips and lean lower face showed.

"Deekin not follow you! Well, okay, maybe he follow you a little... but he only watch to see that you be great hero!" he protested desperately.

"Deekin? The kobolds in the crypt mentioned you," the hero said thoughtfully, extending and opening a long, spidery hand to him. "They bemoaned you and blurted that you had escaped the crypt with the tower statue. I was seeking you; how convenient that you would find me. I would request that you impart the statue to me, now." Deekin's heart and stomach dropped at once.

"You wants tower statue?" he squeaked. "What for?"

"I am an apprentice to the dwarf you attacked," she informed. "You stole the statue from him, and by right it is his yet. I am to gather and return to him the artifacts your fellows made off with." Deekin felt his insides sink even more.

"You...you be dwarf's apprentice?"

"Yes. You doubt my claims?"

"It just...Deekin not sees you when he be at dwarf's home."

"I was not alerted of the kobold siege until after you and the rest of your kin had fled," she sighed, hand still outstretched. "You waste your breath and my time. I wish the statue, not idle chatter." Deekin was frightened to disobey, but an idea occurred to him.

"Deekin knows you look for little statue. Deekin, he... gives it to you if you helps him...? That good idea, yes?" he tried hopefully.

"No. Handing the statue over to me before I lose my patience would be a good idea," she corrected.

"Umm... you is scaring Deekin lots right now. You is very scary," he admitted. "But... Deekin not so dumb he go get statue from where he hides it." The hero stood in silence, so he went on, "You helps Deekin and Deekin goes and finds it for you. That only way... even if you be very scary and mean." He braced himself for the worst, but the stranger didn't attack. Instead, she mumbled something to herself and swung her hand a little. Though for the entire conversation her expression never once changed from its emotionless look, her tone was suddenly warm and patronizing.

"I think you wish to give me the tower statue now," she said kindly.

"Ummm...Deekin does?" he asked quizzically, then recognized the spell she'd secretly cast. "Oh. Deekin knows what you did. You tries to charm Deekin. Master cast big spell on Deekin long time ago so Deekin not be charmed. That way Master's secrets all safe. That pretty sneaky, but Deekin not finds little broken tower statue for you unless you helps him. No ifs, ands or buts." He was surprised and delighted at his own sudden courage, but for all her lack of expression, he doubted the hooded one was as pleased.

"How am I to help you, then?" she questioned, realizing he wasn't going to budge on it.

"You be great hero!" Deekin answered emphatically. "Deekin knows this... he be watching you! You go and seek out Deekin's old Master, Tymofarrar!"

"The white dragon?" she queried bluntly. "I have met with him already. He owes me a favor...what shall I ask of him for you?" Deekin was ecstatic to hear this, but went on.

"Makes him free Deekin. Then Deekin gives you little broken tower statue," he responded steadfastly.

"Very well, I shall beseech your Master for your freedom. Once this is granted unto you, you shall fulfill your end of the bargain," she consented. "Are we in agreement?"

"Ooo! Deekin just knew that you would help him!" he beamed. "He just knew it! Deekin is so happy now... but, ummm, still a little scared."

"Where shall I find you to inform you of your freedom?" she inquired. Deekin admired her confidence.

"You goes and finds old Master and do what you going to do. Deekin goes to human village of Blumberg off to east and hides in shop there, okay?" he replied. The hero nodded to this, turned around and started off. Deekin suddenly remembered what he'd been dying to know.

"Wait!" he yelled after her. "What be your name?"

"I am called Umbra Lumina," she told him without pausing. Deekin stood there and watched her walk away, seeming smaller and smaller as she went, until at last she went down a hill and dipped out of sight. He lingered, then turned and raced eastward.

His mind playing the conversation with Umbra over and over again, Deekin was uncertain how long it took before he found his way back to Blumberg. The corpses were still there, and starting to smell, their spilt blood curdled on the ground. Deekin avoided them, too thrilled for his mood to be very dampened, then ducked back into the abandoned shop and shut the door closed behind him. Imagine! he grinned to himself, setting his pack on the floor with a miniature maelstrom of dust. A hero--a REAL HERO--had bargained with Deekin, agreed to free him from Tymofarrar! It was straight out of his dreams, too good to be true. He had to write it down, he decided, opening his pack and fishing out the inkwells, quill pens and stacks of parchment it held. He searched through what he'd written, and without a second thought tossed it aside, then dipped his quill in the ink and started anew:

"The hooded figure appeared amidst the flames, a glimmering beacon of hope on this blackest of nights. Figuratively, since the firelight shooed away the dark. The frightened, hiding kobold could only stare in wonder as this valiant hero slew the gnolls. Her name was Umbra Lumina..."


	6. Free to Roam

(A/N: Here it is...I've been sick, cut me some slack. I've started adding A/N to the start of author's notes, in case the parentheses didn't clue you in. I'd like to thank Coranth, Lissette and Guan for reviewing last chapter, and dedicate this one to them. Please review more.  
To Coranth: Yes, Umbra is a Sorcerer/Fighter, good thinking :) Her alignment is currently True Neutral, and as for her species, you'll find that out as the story progresses.

Disclaimer: Amazingly, I don't own Neverwinter Nights.)

* * *

Chapter Six

Deekin wrote throughout the night. When just under a dozen pages had been filled with his scratchy handwriting and haphazard doodles, he set aside his quill, lay down on the grimy floor and closed his eyes--just for a second, he assured himself.

When he opened them again, he was no longer in the shop. Instead, he was once again in Tymofarrar's den, though it seemed smaller than he remembered it. As Deekin looked around, confused and severely disappointed, a gnoll leapt at him out of thin air, soaked in blood and foaming at the mouth, eyes lolling back in its head as it emitted an ear-splitting screech. It growled Deekin's name and reached for him with a mangled paw--when an immense white tail knocked it away. Deekin followed the tail to its owner, and there sat Tymofarrar, gazing down at him with a look of superiority. Green chains writhed across the floor like vipers, intertwining and spelling out "fear" before crawling over Deekin, locking together and binding him. Hanging his head in resignment, Deekin knew this was the price he must pay for the dragon's protection, and balled his fists at the unfairness.

Something appeared in his hand suddenly; when he opened it, lying there was a tiny black tower statue. It rose up and hovered above Tymofarrar, growing larger and larger until whatever magic held it there gave out under the weight and the tower statue--now the size of a real tower--fell on Tymofarrar, shattering and trapping the dragon in the rubble. Resting smugly atop the broken pile was a milky white orb, staring unblinkingly like a blind eye, straight into Deekin's heart. Little lines flowered over its surface, cracking it open like an eggshell, and out burst the mutilated gnoll, saliva pouring in blood-pinkened streams over its fangs. The flesh stripped away from the gnoll of its own accord, leaving in its place an old skeleton like those that had chased Deekin throughout the crypt. Its dry bones clinked together as it lurched unhurriedly toward Deekin, who could only struggle in vain against the sickly green chains and watch helplessly as the undead crept ever closer...

Then it stopped, and crumbled into a lump of gray dust that made Deekin cough. Stepping out of the shadows and into the dust was a hooded figure--Umbra. She stretched a hand out to him, and the chains constricting him blackened, withered and fell away...

"Deekin?" It was Umbra's voice. Deekin stirred and blinked open his eyes to find himself in the shop again. It had only been a nightmare.

"Do you live yet?" Umbra asked, hanging her expressionless, cowled face over him. Deekin nodded and yawned, sitting up and stretching his arms, legs and tail. Umbra stepped back to permit him room, carefully avoiding the papers that littered the floor.

"Deekin falls asleep, he guesses," the kobold grinned sheepishly, abashed at being caught by the great hero in such a state. The disturbing dream lingered yet; he pushed it out of his head as best he could.

"Asleep?" The very notion seemed to confound Umbra. "Yes, sleep...you were sleeping...did you sleep well, then?" Deekin nodded again, despite the truth, then picked himself, brushed some dirt off his tunic and grinned brightly up at Umbra.

"You gots good news for Deekin, maybe?" he ventured.

"I spoke with Tymofarrar," she informed, slipping the woolen pack off her back and rummaging through it. "After some persuasion, he agreed to your emancipation. He gave me this... doll... to give to you." So saying, she at last found what she had been looking for and withdrew a doll. Small and vaguely humanoid, it was made mostly of burlap stuffed with hay and dried grass. It was extremely worn and the burlap was torn in many places. Written in a crude, almost child-like fashion on the back of the doll's head was the name "Deekin". Deekin instantly recognized the shoddy thing.

"Old Master... give you Deekin's doll?" he sniffed, wiping his eye and gently taking the doll. "Deekin all choked up now. Deekin really be free! YAYY!" He threw his arms up in excitement, one hand still clutching the burlap bundle. Umbra waited expectantly, reminding him of his part of the deal.

"Deekin so happy!" he smiled enthusiastically, setting the doll down on a sheet of paper. "You waits here... Deekin get statue and be right back!" He scrambled over to the loose floorboard, lifted it and took out the napkin-covered statue. As he handled it, feeling the separated chunks within, his face slowly fell. Reluctantly, he turned to face Umbra, shifting from one foot to the other.

"Ummm...Deekin sort of forgets to tells the great hero something," he started in anxiously.

"And what would that be?" Umbra prodded.

"Deekin... he carries little tower statue when we leaves human village," he explained, glancing down to avoid Umbra's unseen eyes. "When gnolls attack, he... breaks the little statue." To prove his point, he unfolded the napkin and showed Umbra the crumbled bits, the crystal globe shining amongst them like a diamond in the rough. Umbra stood in stunned silence for a moment; then she folded the napkin over, plucked it out of his hands and pushed it deep down in her pack, which she slung back over her shoulders.

"I must leave now," was all she said, and without another word, she leapt up the steps and left. Deekin stared after, confused but glad she hadn't been angry--or shown her anger, at least--then picked the doll up again. There was a small cloth tag attached to the doll that had a message written on it in tiny, delicate letters:

"Search for your dreams, lad, and good luck. -- T."

He smiled at the encouraging words, quickly forgetting Umbra's odd reaction to the broken statue. Right then, all that mattered was that Tymofarrar was happy for him. He regarded the tag and the toy fondly for a few minutes, recalling old memories, then trod back over to the loose floorboard and pried it up, tucking the doll under before letting it snap shut. The doll was a symbol of the his past, and Tymofarrar had given it back to him. Now, upon his freedom, Deekin was letting his past go; his future lie promisingly ahead.

Throwing his arms up in a cheerful "Huzzah!", Deekin stuffed his belongings back in his pack, caught the pack in the crook of his elbow and rushed out the door after Umbra.

He tried to track her via her footprints, but a small wind flurry had arisen just long enough to stir up the snow and erase Umbra's tracks. Deekin ran out of Blumberg and stopped at the town's entrance to ask himself where she might have gone. Back to Hilltop, most likely--but where _was_ Hilltop? He'd lost the map somewhere in the crypt, and had no reasonable hope of finding the town again. But, with a frantic look around, he decided he would have to try. He had nowhere else to go...following the great hero Umbra was the only thing he could think of. Besides, the tale he had started of her noble deeds begged to be finished. Deekin set off.

He walked and walked and walked, his legs becoming first sore, then completely numb. Fortunately, it amounted to something, and he came upon a familiar place he could've sworn he'd been to before. Indeed he had--right there was the very stream leading out of the icy lake he'd plunged off the cliff into! How long ago that seemed now, thought it had been naught but a couple days. Motivated, he sped his pace and hiked for a while longer, until he came to a place he knew he'd been to before. The kobold corpses scattered about were a helpful hint. Pleased, he plopped down in the frigid whiteness to catch his breath-- and a conversation caught his ear. Twisting his head, he saw the halfling caravan just a couple dozen feet behind him. Wondering how he'd missed it, he pushed the snow up into a small bank and crouched behind it to watch and listen.

The first speaker was brusque and egotistical, and Deekin recognized him as the mustached half-orc that had appeared from nowhere during the raid on Drogan. Situated before a small fire, the half-orc was garbed in an extravagant blue suit of armor and addressed in a demeaning demeanor the halfling woman standing across from him.

"Personally, Xanos is not looking forward to traveling with little people," the half-orc grunted disdainfully as Deekin wondered who Xanos was.

"We aren't exactly anticipating a long trip with you big 'uns, either," the halfling woman retorted, jerking her head to toss a long strand of black hair out of her eyes. "But your master has instructed us to transport you and your fellows across the Anauroch desert--or so you say."

"You imply that Xanos is a liar!" the half-orc--whom Deekin was beginning to suspect was none other than Xanos himself--cried incredulously, eying the halfling with contempt. "I gave you the letter from Master Drogan himself! Hmph, Xanos did not bare his bones to this unforgiving weather to be insulted by a little--"

"Fine, fine, I believe Xanos!" the halfling snapped, then sighed. "If it weren't for my respect for Drogan and my gratitude towards Umbra..." Deekin jumped at Umbra's mention, hastily hiding himself again.

"Umbra this, Umbra that!" Xanos complained, rolling his eyes. "May her holy name be blessed and Xanos be humbled to kiss the ground she walks on! Bah, the rest of Hilltop hardly knew her name until this business with the kobolds came up." Deekin was taken aback at his sarcastic tone.

"She fought to protect us, which is a lot more than I can say for you," the halfling responded. Xanos snorted derisively, causing the tusks in his lower jaw to jut out a little more.

"You know nothing! Xanos might not have been out fending off gnolls, dragons, skeletons and Mystra knows what else, but I was at least helping Drogan when the kobolds attacked, whilst the little mystery had herself shut up in her room, as always."

"Enough." The halfling held up a hand. "There's too much to be done for me to waste time squabbling with a petty orcblood. Just hurry home, get started packing and save us all some grief."

"That Xanos will do gladly," he grumbled, adding, "right after I ask Saint Umbra why she came out of hiding to play the hero now." With that, he stuck his concave nose in the air and indignantly stormed off. As soon as the half-orc was out of sight, Deekin jumped up and without hesitation sprinted over to the caravan. The halfling woman was muttering to herself about Xanos and his ego, but the kobold's presence instantly garnered her attention. Bristling, her hand went to the dagger on her belt.

"Noo! Wait wait wait! You no hurts Deekin, Deekin just wants to talks to you!" he insisted, wringing his hands pleadingly and dropping to his knees. "Pleeease, you listens to Deekin!" The halfling kept her hand close to her weapon, but seemed softened, and more than a little confused, by Deekin's show of submission.

"Alright," she instructed in a no-nonsense voice, "say what you have to say, but make it quick." Deekin nodded gratefully.

"Umbra the great hero be travelings with you, right?" he queried.

"Not this moment, but that's right, soon we'll be taking her and a couple others across the desert," she affirmed.

"You must takes Deekin with you!" Deekin begged. "Deekin be great admirer of Umbra Lumina, he wants to be just like her somedays! She be great hero--she smites her enemies as easily as somebody would breathe, she be noble and brave, she fears nothing or nobody, she be just like great heroes of legends, maybe greater, and that be why Deekin must goes with you, so he can writes her legend and her greatness never be forgotten!" He gasped for air after the long-winded plea and looked to the halfling hopefully.

She studied him carefully, and after a thoughtful silence the halfling decided, "Alright, I'll see what I can do. But, you can't just freeload off us--you'll have to pull your weight around here like everyone else."

"What Deekin has to do?"

"Hm...can you cook?"

"Oooh, Deekin can cook!" Deekin grinned eagerly. "Deekin cooks for old master, once! Except old master takes bite and says--"

"So that's settled," the halfling interrupted. "You'll be our cook. My name is Katriana, and they" --she swept a hand toward three halfling men that stood a short distance away, who Deekin hadn't noticed before-- "are Birgen, Furten and Torias. Most of my mates were wounded in the attack and are resting in the caravan now, so until they're better you'll mostly be seeing the four of us. Don't try striking up a conversation with Birgen; he's not much of a talker." Katriana led him past the small fire, showing him to the three separate parts of the caravan; a hastily set up pen behind them held some oxen. Katriana pointed out the caravan to the right.

"That caravan belongs to Daschnaya," she told him. "The other caravans will be full once Drogan's apprentices have moved in, so you'll be staying with her." Deekin nodded. There was a brief silence.

"So, umm...what Deekin does now?" he asked finally.

"You're the cook," Katriana replied dryly. "Take one guess."

A little while later, Deekin had started cooking. Katriana didn't trust him alone with her injured comrades just yet, so she brought him the pot, utensils, bowls and a sack of vegetables and spices out of the caravan's storage. They were saving their water for the desert, so she instructed him to melt snow for the soup before disappearing back into the caravan to tend to her fellows. Chipper as ever and eager to please, Deekin picked a long stick out of the woodpile and stoked the fire until it blazed with new life, then took some more sticks and built a spit over the flames. Hefting the large black pot, he staggered over to the fire again and hung the pot on the spit, then reached into the sack of ingredients, pulled out several dried vegetable rinds and dropped them in the pot with a series of satisfying _clunk_s. The sack also contained many small bags, each filled with a different spice. Deekin took generous pinches out of them and sprinkled many different spices over the vegetable rinds, but was especially partial to the red varieties.

Gazing at the bottom of the pot, Deekin thought the contents sadly lacking, and decided to add his own ingredients. Setting his pack down, he shuffled around inside it and withdrew a fistful of meat jerky strips, which he threw in. A fat black beetle scurried around in there as well, so he squashed it and tossed it in the pot for extra flavor. Still, the soup begged for more. Espying a pine tree a short walk away, Deekin ambled over to it and scraped up a fair portion of browning pine needles, crumbly pinecones, sap and bark. Into the pot they went.

Deekin stepped back and admired his creation. There, he smiled in satisfaction, that was good. Now he just had to add the snow. He scooped the white stuff up by the armful and deposited it, oblivious to the muddy footprints sunk in it. Grabbing a long-handled wooden spoon, he mixed it all together with vigorous thrusts, watching the snow melt to slush, then cold water. As he waited for the brew to simmer, he kept stirring and surveyed his surroundings.

Just over there, the three halflings Katriana had pointed out earlier were still keeping watch. Two of the halflings had red hair and beards and wore red armor to match, while the third wore plain gray clothes and had no apparent facial hair, but had head hair as black as Katriana's, which he kept tied back in a short ponytail. Speaking of which, Katriana came out just then and scolded him for slacking off. Deekin was enjoying himself, inclining his head to eavesdrop and learn that the dark-haired halfling man was Torias, which meant the redheads were Furten and Birgen. It was interesting, to be working for human-looking people his own size, and he hoped they would forgive him for the kobold ambush.

The soup had barely begun to bubble, when Torias sidled over.

"Hey, there," he greeted. "So you're the kobold Katriana hired on as a cook, eh?"

"Deekin not thinks there be any other kobolds around here," Deekin responded. "No live ones, anyways."

"Yeah, I guess the dead don't do much in the way of cooking, unless they're being cooked," Torias mused with a grin, and reached for the cooking spoon.

"What you be doing?" Deekin cried, snatching the spoon away.

"I just want a taste!" Torias returned, offended. "Just one little sip for a halfling who's been standing in the cold all day!"

"Waits 'til soup be done, _then_ halfling gets some," Deekin said simply, still stirring. Torias grumbled and begrudgingly began to trudge away, when he saw something.

"Hey, Drogan's apprentices are here!" he announced. "Good ol' Umbra, too!" Sure enough, there they were, Xanos arrogantly striding at the front with a heavy trunk easily tucked under his arm, behind him a brown-haired dwarven woman looking about suspiciously as she bent under the wait of her baggage, and finally Umbra, hanging at the far back and hiding in herself as much as possible. Startled, Deekin dropped the spoon in the pot. Oh no...if the great hero knew Deekin was there...that he was still following her...in a heartbeat, Deekin dashed into Daschnaya's caravan. Torias noticed this, and promptly took advantage of the opportunity to rush back over to the pot, fish the spoon out and sample the soup. His mouth puckered around the spoon, which he hastily yanked out and flung aside; his eyes watered, and his face went pallid green. Wordlessly, he stepped away from the pot. Xanos grinned down at Torias.

"What did the little halfling get into, Xanos wonders?" he chuckled. Torias just shook his head and pushed past the half-orc to find a private place to puke.

Inside the caravan, Deekin pressed his back against the door and slumped to the ground. Hopefully, Umbra hadn't seen him...

"Yes? What is it?" a voice asked, drawing Deekin's attention to the speaker, an aging, gray-haired halfling woman who sat on a pillow before a broad, low-legged table. She continued, "A kobold, but not here to attack us, eh? The cook Katriana hired?"

"Yep, that be Deekin," he replied, relaxing a little as he stood up. "You be Daschnaya, right?"

"Daschnaya I am," she avered. "What brings you to Daschnaya's little wagon, hmm?"

"Umm, Deekin be staying here," he answered awkwardly. "Katriana not tells you?" Daschnaya studied him carefully.

"I know of the arrangements," she told him. "But Daschnaya knows other things...you run from the one you follow, yes?"

"Yeah, that be right...but how you knows?" Deekin asked, astounded.

"Daschnaya sees things," she explained. "I have the gift of foresight."

"Ooh, so you tells fortunes?" Deekin exclaimed. "You tells Deekin's fortune, maybe?"

"I've no time or energy for readings today," Daschnaya yawned. "Daschnaya tires now. Your bed is there on the floor...good-night, now." With that, she disappeared behind a beaded curtain at the back of the caravan. Deekin stood rather confused for a moment, then looked down at the floor, where a modest bedroll was waiting for him. There was a window at the side of the caravan, low enough for him to see through. Peeking out, he saw Katriana speaking to Drogan's pupils around the fire--the pot holding his stew had since been removed, he noted. The sun had since set, to his surprise. Time had passed him by quickly...that, and he most likely woke up late in the day. Having spent his days in a cave, he had yet to adjust to daytime hours.

Deekin set his pack down, crawled into the bedroll and settled in, but he wasn't tired. Opening his pack, he dug out his writing supplies and poised himself to write. He closed his eyes and thought this through, then continued the tale.


	7. Just Deserts

( **!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!PLEASE READ THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

....Thank-you. I found several flaws in this story and corrected them. It's depressing that they were there in the first place, but I righted them and now the world is a better place because of it. The corrected parts are as follows:

-the Ice Hounds are half kobold, half white dragon (Tymofarrar's own stock)

-Deekin remembered to take his lute and rapier with him (can't believe I forgot...)

-gnolls are now the size of two kobolds, but have the strength of four (I pointed this out earlier but didn't fix it until now)

-bats now flutter out of the crypt with Deekin (unnecessary, but makes for better reading)

Some of those are just little things I corrected because I'm paranoid. But one proves to relate to an important plotpoint later...much later. At the very end of the story, actually. Oh well.

I'd like to thank Guan, Coranth, Lissette, lost in space, Iris and Lady Kitana for reviewing last chapter, beg them for more reviews, and tell them how sorry I am that Chapter Seven took so long to write. Curse you, writer's block...

Oh, yeah. Please review. PLEEASE!

Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own Neverwinter Nights, Forbidden Realms or Dungeons and Dragons. A darn shame, too.)

**Dependence I: Heartsinger**

Chapter Seven

Deekin eventually fell asleep. By the time he awoke, the caravan's sections had already been reconnected into a train and the oxen were in place at the front, pulling the vehicles along in their slovenly, steady way. Deekin pressed his snout against the window, his breath forming white clouds on the chilly glass as he watched the snowy plains roll past. Unsticking his face from the window with a wide grin, he spun around to face Daschnaya, who was only half-awake and sitting at the low table, pouring herself a cup of hot tea from a black kettle.

"This be so exciting!" Deekin vociferated joyously, plopping down on his bedroll. "Deekin never be in any kind of wagon before!" The caravan hit something rough, sending them up with a jolt and causing Daschnaya to spill her tea, though Deekin failed to notice. "See?! It be so neat, and it be warm in here too!"

"Enjoy it now," Daschnaya responded, glaring at the spilt tea puddling on the tabletop, as though staring hard enough would cause the liquid to repool into her cup. "Daschnaya travels much, she does. It won't be exciting for long."

Sure enough, the days passed and the pattern soon grew monotonous. In the mornings they would awaken and snack on some dried foods--once Deekin offered to cook, but Daschnaya shook her head and replied that she hadn't consulted her cards, but she didn't think that would be a good idea--and sip water as he studied the intricate frost designs that decorated the window. The snow didn't occupy his interest for long, so Deekin often spent the day doodling on a single sheet of paper, paranoid of wasting them all, or practicing playing his lute. When Daschnaya wasn't on the other side of the beaded curtain, sometimes he would talk to her, and sometimes he would play songs for her, which she seemed to enjoy. When he wasn't doodling, playing music or talking to the old fortune-teller, Deekin would just sit by and dream of what adventures he might go on, and wonder what Umbra Lumina was doing right then.

---

"Aren't you going to do anything, Umbra?" the brown-haired dwarven woman snapped at the tall, hooded figure who seemed to be glued to window. "Ever since this trip started, all you've been doing is staring out that damned window! Do you sleep there, too?"

"Forgive this one, Dorna," Umbra said in a wispy, weary voice, "for this one wishes but a last look..." Dorna just groaned, shook her head and moved on.

---

Throughout the day, the caravan would make occasional stops to feed and water the oxen, during which some of the halflings would go from caravan to caravan, collecting and emptying chamberpots and asking if anyone needed anything very badly. Then they would be off again, leaving the travelers to resume their blase daily patterns. When night fell, the caravan would stop until the sun set. Most of the travelers would get out to stretch their limbs, breathe some fresh air and chatter amongst themselves, but Daschnaya and Deekin always stayed in--Deekin for fear of being seen by Umbra Lumina, Daschnaya because she was aging and didn't like to move more than she had to, for the sake of her creaky joints. In the morning, the caravan would be off again, and the pattern would repeat.

On one of many such days, the kobold asked Daschnaya why Drogan's students were journeying with with the caravan. Daschnaya, who had been shuffling her cards and spread them into a fan, expertly compressed the fan of cards with a switch of her thumb, bound them with a thin leather strip and turned her attention to Deekin.

"Daschnaya knows little of the situation," she confessed, "but she knows something. There is an object of power Drogan's pupils have found, though Daschnaya knows not what it is. They seek a man in the desert, who can tell them of it." Daschnaya lowered her voice secretively and added, "But Daschnaya thinks one of them already knows more of the object than that man."

"Then why is they going to sees him?" Deekin puzzled.

"Because the one who knows will not let on, that is why," she told him. "So because this man is on our way, we are transporting them across the desert."

"Okies...thanks for tellings Deekin," he said gratefully. Daschnaya nodded and went back to her cards.

The caravan went on, rolling over hill and dale, across the snowy plains. The terrain began to roughen out, until it wore into the towering peaks that composed the Nether Mountains. Deekin tensed as they entered this area--though Tymofarrar was miles away from this part--and hoped they would leave it soon. Sadly, though the sierra itself wasn't especially large, it took a long while to navigate through it because of the many mountains they had to weave around.

By and by, they finally left the mountain range. No sooner had they done so, it seemed, than the vast sands of the Anauroch opened up before them. Deekin pressed his face up against the window yet again, this time to take in the sands which glistened golden in the hot sun's dazzle, and the prickly green cacti sticking up here and there that he had hitherto only read of.

As the cramped inside of the caravan grew very muggy in the heat, Deekin wished for sweat glands and remarked, "Deekin never be too hot before...except for that one time when Deekin be in old master's cave and gets really cold, so he leans too close to the fire. Deekin is thinking aah, this fire sure be hot...too hot, too hot! Deekin be on fire, and he screams, so old master--being a white dragon--blows ice on Deekin. Fire gets put out, so that be good, Deekin thinking, but then he be so covered in ice he can't move, and he be colder than ever, so Deekin just freezes like that 'til ice melts. Deekin never gets too close to fires again." Daschnaya smiled at his reminiscence and fanned herself with her cards, while Deekin just turned back to the window and his thoughts.

A short while later, she folded her cards and mused disconsolately, "How many times we have crossed this desolate wasteland and never stopped to consider what it once was, a place great for more than its size."

"What you means?" Deekin pondered quizzically, turning to face her.

"Very simple: this desert was not always here. The fall of the Netheril Empire created it. Hostile magic, cursed blight, the destruction of their cities... it turned a verdant land into a desolation." She looked more directly at Deekin and asked him, "What do you know of the ancient Netheril Empire, and how it fell?"

"Deekin not knows that much, really," he responded. "Deekin knows there be humans, long ago, that cuts tops off Nether Mountains and makes great flying cities of Netheril out of them! Deekin lives under the Nether Mountains, once. But Deekin not knows how it falls...how?"

"Now that is the mystery, isn't it?" she sighed. "Whatever happened to the Netherese, it happened suddenly. There are many tales but no records of this calamity." She paused to close her eyes and think. "Perhaps their magic simply stopped working, perhaps they were attacked... perhaps the gods struck them down because their pride was so great." She cleared her throat and half-opened her eyes. "However it happened, one day the flying cities of the Empire crashed to the ground and their power was no more. Lost to time and legend, as they say."

"There be no traces of it?" Deekin queried.

"Traces, perhaps. Ruins, scattered artifacts, perhaps more buried beneath the sand under our feet. Little more."

"There be flying city buried under Deekin's feet?" he asked with wide eyes. Daschnaya laughed at his expression and patted him on the head, careful to avoid his four tiny horns.

"Very possibly, little one. If one of us knew the answer to that, who knows what power we might possess?"

---

After a day's travel, a city sprung out at them from the sands. The populace was known as Blacksands, and Katriana stopped the caravan here to send halflings out to look around for a guide to hire. In all its dangerous monotony, Daschnaya explained to Deekin, the Anauroch was an inhospitable place and easy to get lost in; no matter how many times they had journeyed across it, each time they needed a native to guide them.

This time, their guide was a young, dark-skinned man named Zidan, who was one of the Bedine--a people native to the Anauroch. Since Zidan traveled in another caravan--there had been room for one more, after all--and Deekin never left his, the only time he saw him was when Katriana went from caravan to caravan introducing him. At last the caravan lurched to life, Zidan as its compass, and they were off again, the city shrinking into a dot on the brilliant horizon behind them.

They traveled for many more days. The stops were more frequent now, so the oxen could be watered often enough they wouldn't dehydrate in the open sun. Katriana constantly stopped by the caravans during these halts to remind the passengers to be stingy with their water and other fluids; it would be a long, dry trip. Daschnaya missed her tea, but agreed to drink it sparingly. Deekin was unused to drinking so little, but after living with an irritable dragon for so many years, he had learned to adapt.

On the third night out from Blacksands, Deekin was getting ready to hunker down for the sleep, when he heard an odd noise that sounded like a cross between a hiss and a rattle. Daschnaya had recently predicted trouble, so Deekin was instantly wary. Crawling to the window, he chanced a peek. Katriana and several others--including Zidan, Xanos, and Dorna, though Umbra was nowhere to be seen--were gathered around the fire. Suddenly, Torias sprinted over.

"We're under attack!" he panted. "It's an ambush!" A second later, a fleet of strange creatures burst out from beneath the sands. They appeared to be giant scorpions, but with hairless, humanoid red forms sprouting torso-up where heads should be. Their swollen tails dripped deadly venom, their chiseled hands gripped heavy weaponry, and Deekin remembered reading about these dangerous monsters, who were aptly named "stingers".

No time to admire the wildlife, Deekin realized as the stingers hissed, rattled and swung their weapons and tails at the caravaners. Pulling away from the window, he found his backpack on the floor and started searching through it. His rapier was there, still in its scabbard, but he wasn't sure he knew how to use it. Thankfully, he still had his crossbow, a quiver of bolts right beside it. Slipping the quiver and pack over his shoulders, Deekin loaded the crossbow with a bolt and went ahead, then paused a moment at the door. He hadn't done very well in that battle against the gnolls, had he? He hadn't done anything, in fact. What made him think he would have any more courage fighting the stingers, who were just as hazardous as gnolls if not more so?

Umbra did. She was there, and so were the others. He wouldn't be alone in this battle. Self-assuredly, Deekin pushed the door open and went out to fight, careful not to awaken Daschnaya as he closed it.

As unbearably hot as the days were, the nights in the desert were surprisingly cold. Deekin could see his breath form in misty clouds in the chill air, just as it had in the Silver Marches, and the stars shone down as clearly as before. He spared no time for stargazing, though, and directed his attention to the battle. The stingers were easily stronger than the halflings, but the little people made up for their lacking musclepower with agility and guile, ducking under their arachnoid opponents and hewing open their undersides, then tumbling aside as the green innards gushed out. The stingers quickly caught on to the strategy, however, and after a few of their brethren had been disposed of in such a manner the stingers took to surrounding a dying fellow, so as to waylay the halfling that would crawl from beneath it.

Fortunately, not only did the other halflings catch on to this counterstrategy and use their underbelly sneak attack on the waiting stingers, but Xanos was there to smash some choice heads together. It was rather impressive, actually, until the half-orc pulled out a tiny, gleaming dagger that contrasted humorously with his large, muscular physique. The diminutive weapon did little but tarnish the red beasts' hard carapaces, so he cast an acid spell beforehand. The summoned acid sprayed out of nowhere and melted away the stingers' chitin shells, reducing the creatures to boneless pink gobs that could only flounder helplessly in the sand, their painful deaths imminent.

Stout dwarf and rogue that she was, Dorna (whose name Deekin had learned from Daschnaya) slid swiftly into the halflings' sneaking attack patterns. With the halflings to catch the stingers off guard and Xanos to take them down with his sorcery and orcblooded strength, as well as Deekin helpfully shooting bolts from the background, the caravaners were making good progress against the stingers. Sadly, the amount of the creatures seemed to be endless--for every one that was taken down, two more would pop out of the sands to take its place. The halflings were wearing out, and showing wounds for it; luckily, Deekin remembered some healing spells Tymofarrar had taught him, and set down his crossbow to heal the halflings from afar in splashes of glittering white magic.

Just as the caravaners were winning again, a new wave of stingers rose from the sands with confident war cries, their weapons held high and their tails fat with poison. Several halflings were smacked aside by this new troop and toppled with groans, narrowly avoiding the vicious stabs of the stingers' tails. Even as he rapidly healed them, Deekin felt his healing magics fading and knew that he couldn't keep this up for much longer. He remembered another spell Tymofarrar had taught him, an offensive one. He shut his eyes to concentrate, murmuring the words, circling his hands and hoping he wouldn't be caught by a stinger in this vulnerable moment, then opened his eyes and his hands at once to empower and release the arcane power...

With an egglike stench, a sulphurous cloud culminated in spiraling red banks overhead. In a startling blast, it rained dozens of blazing stars of fire down, each shot hitting a stinger. The monsters moaned as they sizzled and fell to the ground in charred, smoking black heaps, twitching occasionally until the reflexes died off with the rest of the body. Awed, befuddled gasps resonated throughout the camp at this display, Deekin's among them; he hadn't cast that spell.

The resulting smoke settled in a red veil, a dark figure approaching and stepping out of it, none other than the caster herself: Umbra, who cleared the crimson smog away as she felled the remaining stingers with deft swipes of her luminous swords. Deekin was inspired to stay where he was and watch as Umbra stood in silent, dramatic triumph; Katriana felt less inclined, stomping over to their tardy hero as the last of the red mist evaporated.

"Damn, damn, DAMN!!! Where the hell were you?!" Katriana demanded, glaring icily up at the hooded figure, who would say nothing in reply.

"You see? Xanos told you!" Xanos barked angrily, arms crossed. "She cares nothing for the lives of others! It is all about keeping up her little mystery, distant and superior, too good to associate with the rest of us--"

"Shut up!" Katriana snapped at him, then turned back to Umbra. "Answer my question!" Umbra tilted her head up, gazing over and past Katriana.

"Where is Zidan?" she queried simply. Katriana paled, eyes widening in realization as she spun around and looked. Sure enough, Zidan was nowhere to be found.

"Where _IS_ Zidan?!" Katriana cried frantically, forgetting Umbra and racing toward the encampment. "Has anyone seen him?" A chorus of negative answers resounded. The halflings checked the caravans and brought out some healing kits, but couldn't find Zidan. Katriana chewed her lip in frustration as they searched, then called Umbra over and addressed her with a sharp tongue. Deekin didn't appreciate the halfling woman's tone with his hero, but reminded himself he needed to stay out of the great hero's sight at all times.

Dashing ahead, he yanked open a caravan door and prepared to slip in--only to discover he had the wrong caravan. He tried again, but tripped over a resting halfling, who scolded him irritably and tossed a rock at the kobold's head despite his profuse apologies. Careful to watch his step this time around, Deekin wove his way around a crowd of reposing halflings to Daschnaya's caravan. He scuttled up the short ladder to the inlaid door, set his hand on the doorknob, started to twist--

And a dark figure appeared out of thin air, shocking Deekin and causing him to tumble backward. Getting up and rubbing his head, Deekin instantly recognized Umbra looming there. The pit of his stomach was suddenly very heavy.

"Oh... heh heh. The great hero has found little Deekin out," Deekin rasped as he stared up at Umbra's ominous form, his voice low and throat dry with fear. He swallowed, forced a smile and tried, "Ummm... maybe the great hero is happy to see Deekin, yes?" He braced himself.

Umbra just stood quietly for a moment before asking, "How is it that you have escaped my notice for the entire duration of this trip?" Deekin sighed in relief.

"Deekin follows you after we last meets," he explained. "Deekin wants to see world, but... Deekin not know where to go! World is so, so big!" He extended his arms to emphasize. Umbra said nothing, so he went on, "So, umm, Deekin watches the great hero because Deekin sure you go on to more adventures. And Deekin was right!" His grin was genuine now. "When the great hero leaves on caravan, Deekin follow it. Deekin ask halfling girl to hires Deekin on as cook. Then... then Deekin maybe be adventurer, too?" His smile was still there, but pleading now.

"The life of a cook is not normally likened to that of an adventurer," Umbra stated bluntly.

"Deekin knows that!" he said desperately, then looked away shyly and rocked back and forth on his heels. "Deekin was hoping... maybe he travel as the great hero's sidekick? Deekin write the great, epic tale of the great, epic hero's adventure! Just thinks of it! Deekin's story would travel across land, and you becomes famous! What not good about that?" There was another silence...Deekin guessed Umbra wasn't much of an entertainer at parties.

"You wish to write my story, do you?" she quested at last. Deekin nodded excitedly.

"It be epic tale of... of fighting and big, nasty villains! Songs of bravery! Whispers of deeds better left unmentioned! It be really, really good! Deekin promises!" he described enthusiastically. Umbra studied him for a while.

"Alright. Come with me, then," she allowed, turning to walk away.

"YAAAYY!" Deekin cheered, bouncing joyfully and scurrying after. "You not be sorry! Deekin make best, most epic tale of the great hero ever!" He paused thoughtfully, then hurried to catch up again. "Umm, where we be going, anyways?"

"Katriana has requested I locate Zidan," Umbra replied, stride unbroken. "He was most likely taken captive by the stingers, so I am off to enter their tunnels and take whatever is left of our guide back to the caravan. Hopefully, we will not find him beyond repair--if we find him at all, that is."

"Oooh," Deekin answered, hopping over a stinger corpse, then grinned up at her. "Whatever you says! You be the boss, Boss!"

Umbra stopped momentarily, back still turned to him, and muttered questioningly, "Boss?" She shrugged it off and continued on, her faithful kobold companion close at her heels.

(Aaaaand that was Chapter Seven! I love writing this story, I love getting your reviews...thank-you all, so much. Thank-you. Now review, please. It doesn't matter which chapter you review, just so long as you review.)


	8. Nest of Scorpions

(A/N: ...Wow. I can't believe it. I have 37 reviews, for only 7 chapters. I would never have thought this fic could become so successful, and I have all of you to thank! (But I'm lazy so I'll just mention the people who reviewed last chapter.) My heartfelt appreciation goes out to Coranth, qadsjlkahsdf, Lissette, Guan, VaguelyFamiliar, Lady Kitana, and Iris! In the immortal words of Deekin: "May your looting be plentiful!" Or, as he more aptly put it on another occasion: "Ooh, thank-you thank-you thank-you!!!" You people are awesome! I don't think I even need to ask you to review anymore! But just in case--please review :D

Note: Kurtulmak is the God of Kobolds. While I'm at it, I'd like to point out that wood is a precious material in the desert, on par with gold. You'll be seeing some soft rocks in this chapter; this is because the Anauroch Desert is newly formed by geographic standards, so many of the "rocks" would be hard-packed chunks of sand, or limestone. That's my excuse, and I'm standing by it. Enjoy :)

Disclaimer: Do you have to ask? Neverwinter Nights still isn't mine...and sadly, neither is Deekin.)

**Dependence I: Heartsinger**

Chapter Eight

Deekin scribbled a brief, happy account of his new boss on a piece of paper as he scrabbled along after Umbra, his exhaled breaths appearing as pale puffs in the cool night air. Umbra's dark form smoothly faded into the night, the fulgent blades at her sides just barely keeping her visible. She halted sharply, and Deekin fumbled to do the same before he could cause an awkward crash. Without moving her head at all, Umbra just pointed downward at a hole in the ground and decided, "This entrance appears to be safe." With that, she slipped down into the hole. Deekin pushed the paper and pen back down in his pack before doing the same.

The kobold failed to look before he leapt, and was already falling by the time he realized he was about to land facefirst on a large, rough boulder. He barely had time to squeak--

--before a pair of slender black hands caught him midair.

"We must practice caution here," Umbra advised sternly, setting him down on the boulder's top.

"Thanks, Boss," Deekin said gratefully, and noticed that she was standing on the hilts of her swords, the blades of which were driven deep into the rock of the boulder. She stepped backward off them, landing softly on both feet in the sand, and waited for him to do the same. Deekin took a wary look down, balked, then gradually gripped ahold of the bouldertop and slid down, grasping each swordhilt firmly with one long-toed, reptilian foot and waving his tail for balance as he let go of the rock and slowly stood straight up. Now there was the trick of getting down. That didn't go so well; fortunately, Umbra was there to catch him again.

"Shall we go, then?" she queried, pulling her swords out of the boulder.

"Umm... wait, let Deekin writes this down," Deekin responded, yanking out the quill and paper again. "'And the heroes entered the stinky scorpion-thingy caves...'...umm, no, let Deekin thinks..." He paused, scribbled something down, then shoved the writing supplies back and grinned. "Okay, Deekin be ready now." They traveled on.

The underground passage was a long, winding one, and Deekin dipped a claw in one sandy wall to make a line as they walked, so they wouldn't get lost on the way back. He made especially noticeable designs when they came to a branch of the tunnel that forked off in different directions. As he ambled along, he noticed that it was especially light down here; when he looked up, he saw that lit torches were perched at regular intervals along the walls. That was strange...stingers were naturally subterranean, and used to living in darkness underground. Why would they need torches to see their way?

"So...these be stinger tunnels?" Deekin asked, glancing about.

"They most likely are," the boss replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Deekin only wonders, 'cause he thinks that if these be stinger tunnels, then we should be seeings" --several stingers burst out of the sand-- "umm, more of those." He sighed and yanked his crossbow out of his pack, firing a bolt at a stinger's head. Thankfully, the shot hit home and the creature fell dead to the ground, its pierced temple leaking sickly ichor as Umbra sliced up its companions. Patches of sand were now wet with stinger fluids; Deekin was uncertain if stinger blood contained venom, but he avoided those spots just case, while Umbra strode carelessly through them.

The tunnel continued to offshoot and sprawl, and as they trekked on they encountered more stingers, each time swiftly disposing of them--mostly Umbra's doing, of course. For a while they moved without encountering any of the creatures, and Deekin had time to lose himself in thought during this time. In many respects, the stingers' attack on the caravan was very similar to the kobolds' attack on Hilltop. It was finally, really occurring to Deekin that he HADN'T been an agent of the hero, but a cowardly servant of the villain during the first ambush. It ached to compare himself to the monsters he despised. Shameful, Deekin took a deep breath and ventured, "Umm...Boss?"

"Yes, Deekin?" Umbra returned, still looking ahead. Deekin's eyes shifted to the side anyway.

"Umm... Deekin just wonders if dwarf wizard be okays. You knows, since we kobolds..." He trailed off.

"Poisoned him?" Umbra finished bluntly.

"Yes." Deekin started twirling his finger, turning the line on the wall into a series of loops. "Deekin not hurts him, but Deekin still feels guilty. Deekin goes on raid with other kobolds, after all."

"You feel guilt?" Umbra questioned, her tone blank; Deekin realized the only time her low, quiet voice had ever shown a trace of emotion was when she had cast a charm spell. In contrast, his own voice was high and loud, his emotions worn on his sleeve. He pushed these thoughts aside and answered her question.

"Deekin never fits in with other kobolds. Old Master used to tells Deekin that Deekin too smart." He was thoughtful. "But... kobold chieftain be smart, too, and Deekin not be like him either."

"Perhaps it is your imagination which sets you apart," Umbra suggested. No emotion peeked out of that sentence either, but Deekin smiled brightly.

"You thinks Deekin gots imagination? That nice thing to say."

"It is truth," Umbra responded. "This one has heard your playing as the caravan rolled, wondering whose voice sang such lyrics. I recognize that voice to be yours." Deekin was pleasantly surprised.

"You hears Deekin play?" he cried happily.

"Quiet," Umbra ordered abruptly. "Listen, now." Deekin was taken aback, but did so. He heard hisses and rattles...many of them, growing louder with every passing moment. Umbra was already holding her swords; Deekin pulled his crossbow out of his pack and backed up a step, watching as the grains of sand that made up the floor vibrated, jumping up as though alive.

Up from under the sands rose dozens of the stingers, strong, red and deadly, rattling their tails and hissing sinisterly. Their weapons were heavy, gleaming flails with prominent spikes. Suddenly, Deekin's pilfered crossbow didn't seem so formidable, as one stinger stamped its eight needlelike legs and used its flail to smash apart a rock. Deekin's scaly legs bowed in fear, but he loaded up his crossbow and fired a shot anyway. The bolt veered past any living targets and burrowed in the sand amongst the shattered rock bits, to the kobold's dismay; then he looked away to see that Umbra had already hacked at least six stingers into twitching chunks, and was in the process of slicing up two more at once. Deciding Umbra had things covered, Deekin resolved to stay out of the of the main battle and just fire helpful shots here and there.

A creaking sound caught Deekin's attention, coming from a fork of the tunnel that widened up ahead. Instantly intrigued and wondering whether he should investigate, Deekin cast a look at Umbra. The stingers were undoubtedly lethal, but apparently not very sturdy, and their hooded foe was swiftly dodging their blows--or resistant when they did hit--as she delivered her own. Umbra could take care of herself, and Deekin lent little help here. Allowing his curiosity to get the better of him, Deekin slipped off down the branching tunnel, tucking his crossbow back in his pack.

Deekin heard stinger hisses echo along the tunnels after him, fading off as he moved further down the offshoot, which grew wider and wider until it opened up into a small room. Deekin saw what had been creaking--a large stone door, embedded in a side wall and split down the middle. With a resonating clatter, its halves swung completely inwards. Deekin hesitated a moment before softly treading over and peeking in. A bright glitter from beyond the wide door caught his eye and drew him in, leading him to a vast pile of gold and jewels. Deekin's eyes shone bright at these riches; without another thought, Deekin grabbed fistfuls of the gaudy valuables, shoving them down in his pack. He had been hesitant to steal in the crypt, for all the stories he'd read of ancient, possessed objects that haunted thieves to the end of their days. This was just a stingers' horde, though; no bitter, lingering ghosts to attach themselves to wordly possessions here, Deekin told himself. All he had to worry about was what he'd spend all of this on--

A sudden growl proved him wrong. Deekin cursed his luck before reluctantly turning around.

The thing was hideous...actually, "hideous" was a kind description. The beast had a flat, swollen head that was vaguely humanoid, beady green eyes glistening evilly from beneath a furry brow as it opened its mouth--so wide the deformed face seemed to split in half--and bared rows of small, pointy yellow teeth. The body was lionlike and bulky, abundant muscle rippling under tawny fur. Draconic wings spread out of its shoulders, brown and leathery, its long tail tipped with the same long, black spikes that edged the beast's spine and chin. Deekin recognized the thing as the dangerous, spike-throwing manticore, and wished he didn't. He was glued to the spot in fear, knowing the beast could easily catch him if he ran, anyway.

He stood petrified for an instant; then a nasty grin seemed to cross the manticore's face as it extended a long, sticky tongue and curled it around Deekin's face, pulling it away in a slow, generous kiss that left Deekin smelling of carrion. The manticore's expression looked very sadistic as it bent down and clamped its crushing jaws down on Deekin's foot. Deekin gave a guttural kobold cry, then caught himself and moaned instead as the beast lifted him by his wounded foot, then dropped him to the ground. It liked to play with its food, Deekin thought sickeningly, holding the bleeding foot and begging the pain to stop. The manticore held its spiked tail over the kobold, who closed his eyes and prayed to Kurtulmak for release.

When he creaked his eyes open at last, he noticed something bright pressed against the manticore's throat. One--no, two glowing swords, gripped by thin black hands, Deekin saw with growing excitement. Umbra had heard the commotion, and had come to rescue him! He was saf--

The manticore easily reared up and flung Umbra away, knocking her against the far wall. The hooded figure slumped to the ground, then swiftly got to her feet--just before the manticore pounced on her, pinning her to the wall with mighty claws that were stained brown with old blood. Deekin watched in horror as the manticore kept her there, arms pinned to her sides so she could use neither sword nor spell in defense as the manticore gored her with its fangs. Well, the kobold couldn't actually SEE any gore past the manticore, but the manticore was certainly making a show of it. Fear flooded Deekin as the manticore mauled his hero...then fury.

Hopping up and balancing on his good foot, Deekin reached into his pack, took out the crossbow and fired a bolt into the monster's flank to divert its attention. It paid him no mind; he gritted his teeth, reloaded the weapon and fired another. That one did it. The beast turned away, beads of saliva dribbling down its spiked chin as it growled vehemently in Deekin's direction. Deekin saw Umbra fall to the ground, looking oddly shapeless. His immediate thought that the manticore had broken every bone in her body, but said manticore was roaring and racing towards him, so he didn't have much time to worry about that. The manticore gripped the ground with its claws until it slid to a halt, then snapped its tail, sending out a torrent of black spikes--which stopped midair, then drove themselves into the manticore, who screamed in confused pain. Deekin raised a scaly brow.

The manticore tried hurling its tail-spikes at Deekin again, but yet again the spikes drove themselves into the beast itself. The manticore growled threateningly and spun in circles, but there was nothing there. Deekin's leg wobbled and he fell to the ground, but the manticore took no notice as it continued to search for something that wasn't there--then shrieked as it was slashed by something that was.

Umbra was back on her feet and looking no worse for the wear, lashing out at the beast with her swords so quickly the blades were but bright flashes to the eye. Deekin cheered silently as he held his leg to stay the blood flow, looking on as the manticore leaked blood from a devastating amount of wounds, collapsing to the ground with a pathetic moan, its ribs heaving with labored breaths. Umbra attacked it unrelentingly, slitting vital arteries, until the beast lie completely still. She stood over it a long moment, making sure it was dead, then walked over to Deekin and knelt down to level herself with him.

"Are you alright?" she asked him. There was no panic in her voice, no sweat on her face, no frenzied panting after all that exertion; she was calm and astute as ever. Deekin nodded; Umbra noticed his bloodied leg.

"Is okay," Deekin assured. "Cuts be mostly on foot...blood makes it look worse than it really be." He stood up and hobbled on his good foot again despite the pain, just to prove it, then flopped down again. He took off his pack, searched around and grabbed a cloth napkin, which he used to soak up the blood, then cast a healing spell to numb the pain, close the wounds and prevent scarring.

"You needs any healing?" Deekin wondered, looking up at Umbra.

"No, this one suffers no...grave, injuries," she replied. "Are you able to stand?" Deekin nodded and stood again, this time on both feet.

"That is most fortunate," said Umbra, standing as well. "We may continue our search now, though this one would ask that as of now, you stay nearer my side."

"Okay, Boss," Deekin grinned sheepishly, then got out a piece of paper and a quill pen to write something. Umbra waited patiently, until he put away the the writing supplies, shouldered his pack and smiled at Umbra.

"We is off?"

"We are off."

And off they went.

---

On the opposite side of the manticore's room was another stone door, which Umbra pushed open to allow them exit. A couple stingers attacked them upon leaving, but they were easily killed. Deekin looked back as they wandered off down the tunnels again, wondering if the manticore had been something of a secret weapon for the stingers, or if the manticore had ruled the stingers just as Tymofarrar ruled the kobolds. Either way, the torches along the walls must have been placed for the manticore to see by.

They came to a part of the ground that dipped down into a lower series of tunnels. Umbra advised that they should be as silent as possible, then slinked off and vanished into the shadows of the lower tunnel. Especially wary of these tunnels now, Deekin scrambled after.

"Either they eats guide human or he down here, Deekin guesses," he noted nervously to himself, searching for and finding Umbra's silhouette in the dark. Being a kobold, he could see very well in the darkness, but Umbra blended smoothly into it nonetheless. She was doing very well after the manticore incident, and Deekin was grateful for that.

Not long after, the shadows were pierced by the dim light of ornate candles, which rested upon intricately carved wooden pedestals that were set along the sides of the tunnel. Rather than emanating practical light, the candles and pedestals seemed to have been designed for more sacred purposes. Squinting closely at the pedestals' designs, Deekin could make out the carved figures of emaciated, diseased people covered in festering boils, in the process of being picked apart and eaten alive by hungry harpies, surrounded by half-rotted corpses piled so high they blocked out the background, with thin snakes of smoke spiraling across it all. The images were so detailed and disturbing that Deekin almost forgot he was staring at wood; in horror, he pulled his eyes away from the gory sight and gazed at the ground instead, quickening his pace. A pained cry and an unpleasant stench from up ahead forced him to look up.

The tunnel widened into a small chamber, littered with many of the pedestals he'd seen earlier, as well as many equally morbid statues, all crafted of wood and gold. Garbed in ceremonial robes that hung over their humanoid halves and cascaded around the more arachnoid parts, a dozen or so stingers crouched on the floor and bowed their scarlet heads in solemn prayer, situated around a rocky rise in the ground. Atop the elevation stood another stinger, dressed more elegantly than any of the others and bearing cracks in its weathered chitin shell. It hissed sharply down at the others and rattled its tail rhythmically; the other stingers rattled their tails in sync. The leader bowed its head and skittered to the side, revealing a small stone altar. Standing just behind it was Zidan.

Zidan was in terrible shape; he bore two black eyes, his lips were puffy, his clothing shredded to reveal many bruises and deep cuts that oozed a fetid green substance. His skin looked very raw, and he was surrounded by a crackling, faintly pulsing aura of magic that flowed out of the small altar. Blood leaked out the corner of his mouth as his lolling eyes caught sight of Deekin and Umbra. He rasped desperately, "You... you are from the caravan! Please, help me! I beg you!" He licked his dry, cracked lips. "They wish to sacrifice me! Please hurry!" The stingers looked up and followed his gaze to the kobold and the hooded hero. With enraged hisses, the creatures rose up, arched their tails and charged at the intruders.

As always, Umbra made short work of their opponents. The leader, however, stayed safely atop its stony acclivation and prepared offensive spells; Deekin shot him with bolts repeatedly to keep him from casting any. Deekin's range attack killed the thing after only a few shots, so once the followers were dead Umbra only had to ascend the hill and step over its cadaver. Proud of himself, Deekin favored his sore foot and traipsed after her.

Zidan's beaten, swollen face was pleading as Umbra approached. "Please!" he beseeched, wavering weakly. "I... I am being held here by a... a magical force! Free me, I beg you!" Wordlessly, Umbra smacked the altar stone with her swords. The altar cracked apart and tumbled in chunks on the floor, the binding magic that flowed from it fizzling and seeping away from Zidan, who shivered and dropped to his knees in relief.

"I... I am free! Oh, what sheer relief!" he gasped, turning his watery eyes up to Umbra. "I am forever grateful to you, madam! How can such a rescue ever be repaid?"

"There is no need to repay me," she replied, emotionless as ever. "You are needed to guide the caravan. I have come to retrieve you for that sole purpose."

"I am grateful nevertheless," he responded, gritting his teeth to withstand the pain and getting up on one knee, then the other and standing unsteadily with a grunt. "If you had not arrived when you did, the creatures would surely have sacrificed me to their dread goddess!"

"What? You mean she comes and eats you?" Deekin asked, getting out his quill and paper. "Deekin needs to know... Deekin gots to write this all down."

"I would rather not think of it, kobold," the guide answered dully. Deekin nodded in understanding and replied, "Okay. Deekin just makes something up, then. He just thinks back to what old master would do... and that is lots, let Deekin tells you." He promptly began writing.

---

They led Zidan out of the tunnels relatively quickly, thanks to the lines Deekin had left on the walls. By the time Umbra had helped Deekin and Zidan up the boulder and they'd exited the tunnels completely, the sun had already risen and was shining down full-force. The camp wasn't far off, thankfully, so they didn't have to walk far in the trying heat. When they reached the encampment, Katriana rushed over to greet them.

"Ah-ha! There you are, Zidan!" the halfling grinned, somewhat oblivious to Zidan's poor state--Deekin had healed the worst of it, of course, but the Bedine certainly wasn't in prime condition. "You're a sight for sore eyes... I was beginning to think we'd have to wander back to Blacksands before long."

"I would not advise that, Madame Katriana," he said dryly.

"Neither would I, to be honest," she answered. "It's good to have you back."

"The thanks must go to Umbra for that," he told her, bowing his head to the aforementioned. Deekin felt more than a little underappreciated, but let it pass and focused on jotting down the conversation instead.

Katriana regarded Umbra coolly for a moment before relenting, "True enough. Well, Umbra, you rescued Zidan just as I'd hoped you would. I suppose you'll be wanting a reward?"

"I require no reward," Umbra declined. "I did only that which was necessary, and the caravan may now proceed."

"Fair enough," Katriana nodded, then smirked at Zidan. "You, my dear Zidan, are one lucky man... that reward was going to come out of your pay."

"You... are too kind, Madame Katriana," he sighed.

"Don't I know it," came her wry reply. Torias snickered from a short distance.

"I can find you something to do, cousin, if you've got enough spare time to be eavesdropping," Katriana called to him over her shoulder. Torias's ornery expression grew morose, but he pretended not to hear. Katriana rolled her eyes and turned back to them. "Now, then... I trust we're ready to move on?" There were no protests--save some indignant whines from Torias--so the travelers packed away their misplaced belongings and piled back into the caravans to resume their lengthy trip.

---

As the caravan rolled along, Deekin spread out his paper notes and beamed at them, dipping a quill in an inkwell and leaning over to scratch in some revisions. When this was done, he gathered the papers back up in order, shuffled them together and pushed them down in his back, then crawled into his bedroll to catch up on much-needed sleep, after spending the whole night fighting stingers and a ferocious manticore. He closed his eyes with a joyful smile and drifted off to sleep. He slept until well into the afternoon, having occasional nightmares of the manticore; but mostly, his dreams were happy and filled with replays of his adventure with the great hero.

Daschnaya flipped through her cards and smiled at the kobold's sleeping form. His long-muzzled, reptilian green face was still curled up in a smile, four tiny horns poking up harmlessly from the top of his head, ears small and pointed and his warm brown eyes gently closed. He was a good-natured, honest little fellow, and she had taken a shining to him during this trip. Her cards foretold that he would have a trial ahead of him, however; her smile faded at the thought. She could only hope that he would make it through hardship safely, and that not too much of his wide-eyed innocence would be lost.

With one last, wistful glance at the kobold, Daschnaya bound her cards and slipped behind the beaded curtain.

(That was Chapter Eight! Now that you've read, do this humble--I lie--author the service of reviewing, please?)


	9. Trouble Brewing

(A/N: Graah. This chapter took FOREVER to do. You see, I plotted out every other part of the story, except for this part. I just let it swirl there, plotless, and said "I'll deal with it when I get to it". I just got to it. In addition to that, Xanos was suddenly harder than heck to keep funny and in-character for some reason. I blame writer's block. Well, my recently rediscovered Morrowind obsession was probably a contributing factor. Please forgive me! Please read and review!

Note: A daemonfey is an elf with demon blood and, like its fiendish ancestors, a powerful evil.

Disclaimer: Neverwinter Nights never belonged to me. Never.)

**Dependence I: Heartsinger**

Chapter Nine

Deekin awoke with a yawn and went straight for his papers. His mind was clearer after rest, able to more fully render last night's events. He reread his notes, captivated by them in rapturous disbelief; had it been real? Or had it only been a dream? No, no, Umbra had definitely taken him along, Daschnaya assured him, nonchalantly stirring sugar into the very tea Katriana had instructed her not to splurge and taking a long sip. Deekin was elated at this verification, and began chattering nonstop about last night.

"Manticore was terrible!" Deekin recounted. "Had great, green fangs it worried Deekin's foot with, and was THIS BIG!" He stood on tiptoe and stretched his short, spindly arms--though long in proportion to his height--as far as they would go. "Bigger, even!"

"I can't imagine," Daschnaya said dryly, studying the tea leaves gathered at the bottom of her cup.

"It was VERY ferocious, and abouts to kills little Deekin!" he continued. "Deekin is thinking he be dead for sure, when Boss comes out of nowhere and attacks the fermy--the farmid--the formidable beast! Manticore puts up a fight, but Boss vanquishes it easily, like mighty hero she be!"

"You don't say," Daschnaya commented carelessly, still staring down at the teacup cupped in her hands. Deekin somehow found this encouraging, and proceeded to reenact the entire battle, with many high-pitched imitations of the manticore's deep growl as he slashed an imaginary opponent with pretend swords. Deekin bounced around the caravan as he play-fought, bumping into various things in his hyper excitement. Daschnaya closed her eyes frustratedly; Deekin managed to avoid the chamberpot, but crashed into her table twice--thankfully, her teacup was empty. Finally, the kobold settled down, collapsing on his bedroll and giving Daschnaya a pleased grin.

"Then manticore dies, just like that!" he concluded proudly. "And Deekin helped!"

"Yes, Daschnaya believes she caught that part, after you mentioned it eight different times."

"Ooh, you keeps track!" Deekin applauded.

"Indeed." Daschnaya glanced out the window, and before Deekin could start up again, she told him, "The sun has almost set, and the caravan will stop soon. Perhaps you should gather your notes. You want to go out and see Umbra, yes?"

"Yes!" Deekin echoed, hastily scooping the paper sheets into a pile, then meticulously sorting them into a neat stack, which he deposited in his pack. He first pushed the pack under his bedroll; on second thought, he pulled it back out and slipped it over his shoulders. Better safe than sorry, he reminded himself, thinking of the stinger ambush last night.

Deekin hopped up to the window and stared out. The uppermost sky was black, fading downward to a curtain of navy blue that was steadily forcing the last bit of golden light below the horizon. He waved his tail crossly and willed it to hurry up. Bit by sluggish bit, the sun's light dipped out of sight and the sky withered to a deathly black, pricked by white starlight. On cue, the caravan slowed down, coming to a gradual halt that pitched its occupants forward nonetheless. Deekin scrambled over to the door and started to crack it open.

"Wait!" Daschnaya reprimanded, shuffling through her cards; she'd since put the teacup away. "Wait for the others to set the oxen pen up and get the fire started before you get out."

"Oh," Deekin said humbly, shutting the door and backing away from it. "Heh, heh. Sorries 'bout that." He sat down cross-legged on his bedroll. A half-minute later he was up again, peeking out the window at the halflings' progress, tapping the windowsill impatiently. At last he announced, "Fire be ready and oxen be in pen. Deekin goes now, maybe?" Daschnaya nodded; Deekin grinned broadly and shot out the door. Dachnaya sighed in relief at the sudden peace. Deekin was a funny, kindly little fellow, but not the calmest.

Deekin raced out into the cold night air, the plumes of his frozen breath spiraling around him and splashes of cool sand rushing over his long toes as he headed for the center of the camp, then stopped and looked around. Congregated around the fire were most of the halflings, as well as Xanos, who was snapping insults and orders at those around him, and Dorna, who was snapping insults and orders at Xanos. Umbra, however, was nowhere to be seen. With her height, she would definitely stand out amongst the halflings if she were there, but Deekin looked again nonetheless.

He didn't see Umbra, but Katriana stepped into his view.

"So _there_ you are!" she glowered. "It's about time you came out to cook!"

"It's okay, Katriana, really," Torias insisted, hurrying over. "I'll cook tonight!"

"Torias, you're the look-out, not the cook," Katriana stated adamantly. "Besides, you've been cooking for the past trip, and your soup tastes like dishwater." She fixed Deekin with a stern stare. "You're the cook. Go cook. The ingredients and the pot are by the fire. Honestly, what am I paying you for?"

"Umm, you isn't paying Deekin," the kobold pointed out.

"Exactly!" Katriana retorted, walking off to criticize someone else. Torias trailed after and tried to convince her to let him cook, but Katriana wouldn't budge on it. Muttering "Fine, see if I care," to himself, Torias trudged away and resumed his look-out duties.

Deekin got to work. The pot was hanging over the fire, empty except for the broiled remains of a lone scorpion that had foolishly crawled in, but Deekin tipped the pot so the little corpse fell into the flames, unknowingly leaving black chunks of the arachnid stuck to the bottom of the pot. Like before, he piled dried vegetables and red spices into the pot--as well as a flaky, sharp-scented black spice that made him sneeze--by the handful. He wasn't allowed much water, so once the canteen he was allotted for cooking had been stirred into the mix, he was left with a thick brown-and-green substance that was more of a stew than a soup. Regardless of consistency, it still looked very plain, and Deekin wandered off to scrounge out more ingredients.

He hadn't gone more than twelve paces from the camp when he saw a stout green cactus poking out of the sand. It looked ripe, and Deekin was certain something this fresh would do his stew good, but he definitely had his qualms about the spikes. Then he remembered his rapier. He reached into his pack and withdrew the bladed weapon. It had been in there quite a while, and he wasn't sure how clean it was, so he pulled it out of the scabbard and wiped it off on his tunic, failing to realize that his clothing was grimier than the weapon itself.

As Deekin stripped the cactus's spiny skin away with his rapier, he gazed out at the boundless, silvery desert sands and wondered if Umbra was out there. At last he finished, the plant's bare flesh glistening pale green in the moonlight. Pleased with his work, Deekin sliced through its stem in one fell swoop. Well, more like three or four fell swoops, it was a stubborn plant. With an irritable groan, it finally cracked off its base and collapsed defiantly in the sand. Now, one whole sticky side of it was covered in sand grains, but Deekin only assumed the texture would enliven his dish, and lugged the cactus back to camp anyway.

The caravaners were so caught up in whatever they were doing that no one seemed to notice the kobold hauling a sizeable hunk of cactus, which he held over the pot and hacked into clumsy chunks. Deekin stirred them into the bubbling hot stew until only soft green pulp was left, then searched for something else to put in.

He found it: a mummified lizard corpse, shriveled and sticking halfway out of the sand. Deekin snatched it up and sawed it into tiny pieces with dry bursts of disintegrated reptile essence, then dropped the lizard bits into the pot. He would have gladly added more still, but Katriana shouted for him to hurry up, so he swirled it all together with a long-handled spoon, then pulled a metal ladel out of one of the ingredients sacks and served the hungry caravaners who held clay bowls out to him.

Anxious to fill their empty stomachs, the caravaners took large, quick bites. Deekin had gone back to scanning the area for Umbra, and missed the interesting expressions that followed. First, the eaters looked pleased. Then indecisive. Then panic-stricken. Their stomachs rumbled apocalyptically; someone belched, then someone else, then everyone who had partaken in the stew, and soon a chorus of burping arose. Embarrassed, the caravaners excused themselves and dashed into the privacy of their caravan wagons. All the while, Deekin was too preoccupied with looking for Umbra to notice. Torias only smirked to himself in a smug, I-told-you-so sort of way.

As it happened, Umbra didn't turn up for the entire time Deekin was out there. Weary and worrisome, Deekin reluctantly gave up after an hour or so of waiting, kicked sand over the fire, then clambered into Daschnaya's caravan, where he curled up in his bedroll and fell fast asleep. Daschnaya envied him; many of the caravaners were still burping so loudly she could hear them from inside her caravan, and she doubted she'd be able to sleep so easily tonight.

---

The caravan traveled yet another day. If Deekin had even a shred of enthusiasm for traveling across the desert left before, it was gone now. He was hot, bored, and thirsty, since they were almost out of water and Katriana refused to let anyone drink more than what seemed to be a drop at a time. He tried to occupy his mind by revising his story again, but found it impossible to focus in this dizzying heat. He flopped down on his back and stared at the wood-plank ceiling of Daschnaya's wagon instead. Daschnaya just sat at the low table, moving only to fan herself with her cards. The day crept by, but finally it passed.

That night Deekin rushed out and looked around, yet again intent on finding Umbra. Yet again, she was nowhere in sight. And yet again, Katriana walked over to him.

"You wants Deekin to cooks again?" Deekin guessed.

"Actually," Katriana corrected, "I was going to say that I don't think I'll be hiring on any more kobolds to do the cooking."

"Umm...why not? Deekin likes to cook."

"Well, I spent half of last night awake and belching uncontrollably from dinner..." She hesitated. "And I'm really too frightened to ask why that is."

"Well, it all have to do with great, big--" Deekin started, more than happy to oblige anyway.

"No," Katriana cut in, holding up a hand and shaking her head of long black hair. "Really. I don't _want_ to know. Ever." She walked away to talk to someone else, leaving a confused Deekin, who was only going to say "dried beans". No longer distracted, he let it go and sat down to resume waiting for Umbra.

The night wore on, and the fire began to wane. One by one, most of the halflings went into the caravans, until only four individuals were still out. Furten and Birgen kept vigil a small distance away from camp, taking turns resting; Torias had kept watch all of last night while they stayed in, and they were making up for it now. Xanos and Dorna were arguing about something, and Deekin reclined on the sand as he waited.

Eventually, Dorna turned in for the night as well, and Xanos was forced to notice his scaly company. He decided to invite Deekin into a friendly conversation.

"You! Miserable vermin! What are you doing out here?" Xanos called to him. Deekin looked over at him curiously, wondering whether or not he should take offense.

"Umm, Deekin just be waitings for the great hero Umbra," he answered simply, picking up a stick and stoking the fire.

"Great hero? _Umbra?_" Xanos repeated incredulously. "Well, whatever you call the little mystery, good luck waiting for her to come out of hiding."

"Umm, thanks."

"I said 'good luck' because I've lived under the same roof as the little mystery for too many years, and have only seen her a handful of times," Xanos informed bluntly.

"Oh." Deekin pondered this, deducing that the odds of seeing Umbra again were slim. Despite this, he resolved, "Well, Deekin wait anyways." Xanos snorted derisively at Deekin's unwavering loyalty.

"Bah, Xanos is not about to spend his entire night with a scaly vermin waiting for it master to return." Xanos paused; the trip had been boring and depressing, and no one else had been willing to hear what he had to say. "But, Xanos _might_ be willing to impart some of his vast reservoir of knowledge to you, if you are lucky."

"Ooh, really?" Deekin asked eagerly. "You tells Deekin what Umbra be, maybe?"

"Of course--" Xanos stopped with a dismayed expression. "Whaat? Of all the things you could have asked, you ask Xanos what Umbra is?!"

"Yep."

"Well...Xanos doesn't know either," the half-orc confessed, taking the stick from Deekin and whipping the fire's dying flames into a flickering frenzy with a few brisk whisks. "I used to assume she was a drow, but her skin's even darker than that of a dark elf, and she's too tall. Besides, elves carry themselves with proud grace. Umbra creeps." Deekin started to protest, then admitted to himself that 'creep' was indeed an apt summary of the way Umbra walked.

With a sigh, Xanos dropped the stick and inquired stately, "Now, do you have something deserving of Xanos's consideration to ask?" It was Deekin's opinion that Umbra was more than deserving, but he adjudged that expounding the matter was not nearly worth setting the wrath of a large half-orc upon himself. Instead, he obediently questioned, "Okay, umm...why you be out in desert?"

"Exactly what Xanos would like to know," Xanos muttered to himself. Deekin looked at him inquisitively, prompting him to go on.

"Well, Xanos was minding his business at Master Drogan's house, helping out around the place after _someone_ ambushed us" --he glared pointedly at Deekin here-- "when Umbra came back, the celebrated hero. She told us that the kobolds were commanded by a dragon, who was commanded by a daemonfey" --Deekin realized he was referring to J'Nah, and wondered if Tymofarrar had known she was a daemonfey rather than an elf at the time of their dealing-- "who was commanded by a mysterious, hooded female figure," Xanos finished, adding sarcastically, "Gee, I wonder why that sounds familiar. There are far too many mysterious, hooded female figures in the world anymore, Xanos thinks."

"You not likes Umbra?" Deekin surmised.

"Xanos and Umbra aren't best chums, that's for certain," Xanos said bluntly. "But the little mystery is only a mild irritation to Xanos; it is Mischa who truly hates her."

"Who be Mischa?" queried Deekin, immediately deciding he didn't like whoever this Mischa was.

"Just a young paladin-in-training, another of Master Drogan's students," Xanos explained nonchalantly. "She sees everything as either good or bad, and is convinced that Umbra is pure evil."

"Why?"

"'Paladin sense', says she. 'Paranoia,' thinks Xanos," the half-orc answered with a wry grin. "It was rather amusing, actually...she left talismans of good all over the house, hoping one would catch Umbra. Of course, they never did. But wasn't Xanos talking of other things...? Oh, yes. You worked for the dragon, what do you know of the other mysterious, hooded female figure?"

"Boss just tells Deekin something 'bouts a bargain with elf lady," Deekin shrugged. "Deekin guesses that be daemonfey. Deekin not knows nothing 'bouts hooded figure."

"Umbra probably made her up, anyway," Xanos dismissed. "But if she is real, and able to command a daemonfey, she must be very powerful. At any rate, Umbra also claimed this hooded figure was after a little crystal that was in one of the artifacts--"

"Deekin can pay for that," Deekin said quickly, to which Xanos chortled loudly.

"So it was you who broke it?" he grinned. "And here Xanos thought Umbra's negligence was to blame. Lucky for you, vermin, you actually helped us by breaking the statue and revealing the crystal within."

"Ooh, that be good," Deekin sighed in relief.

"On the other hand," Xanos remarked thoughtfully with growing frustration, "it is because of that wretched crystal Master Drogan sent us out to look for a man in the midst of this forsaken wasteland in the first place!"

"Ooh...that be bad," Deekin amended, cringing. Xanos grunted in agreement, pushing to his feet and stretching his overmuscled arms.

"Xanos is ready to go to sleep now. If you are wise, kobold, you'll do the same before long," Xanos yawned sagely. Deekin nodded at his advice as Xanos ambled away and disappeared into a caravan. The kobold huddled to keep warm and gazed at the stars, determined to wait for Umbra to appear.

It would be a long night.

(That was Chapter Nine! Chapter Ten will be up very soon! So I beseech ye...please review.)


	10. Sandstorm

(A/N: I CANNOT believe I procrastinated so much. I will start churning these chapters out at faster rate, even if it means setting Morrowind on fire and stapling myself to this chair. But, moving on...for the first time, I have some suggestions to improve in the reviews. Coranth pointed out several aspects of the stingers' sacrifice that I left out. Well, I didn't see an oppurtunity to slip Talona's name in there--I don't think stingers can speak--but I did detail the grotesque religious decorations that adorned the place. Also, I've been trying not to overdo the undead and godly miracles in this story--if there are too many potent arcane occurrences, it cheapens the effect. In addition to that, I'd like to state that this story is based on the game, but does not follow it word-for-word. The alterations have been minor so far, but from this chapter on I'll be adding major changes to accustom the storyline.

As for LdyShayna's pointers, I edited the chapter name as she advised (thanks for noticing that, can't believe I didn't), but left the in-chapter grammar the way it was. I have too many future chapters to write to focus on chapters past. That, and I'm lazy. Again, thank-you everyone for your reviews, I really appreciate them! This fic is now the most reviewed in the Neverwinter Nights section, thanks to you. Please, keep up the good work! I do hope you enjoy this chapter--it is, in my opinion, the best yet.

Disclaimer: Neverwinter Nights is not mine. I own a copy of the game, but not the rights.)

**Dependence I: Heartsinger**

Chapter Ten

The caravan traveled on for many a week. Night after night, a worried and wearisome Deekin awaited his hero, until even his enthusiasm dispelled, to the point that he would spend but a few minutes in wait of Umbra each night. That is not to say he was satisfied with this arrangement; he spent his days in a slump, which the heat wave and stifling, cramped quarters did nothing to lessen. His depression was evident to Daschnaya; taking pity on her reptilian traveling companion, the old halfling unbound her cards one day and, shuffling them together thoroughly, called him over. Deekin obeyed half-heartedly, sitting down across from her at the low, broad table.

"You wants Deekin?" he asked despondently, leaning his long chin on the tabletop.

"Deekin wants a fortune, yes?" Daschnaya said simply, gazing at the elaborate red-and-black designs on the cards' backs. Deekin lifted his head and looked wide-eyed at Daschnaya in delighted surprise.

"You tells Deekin's fortune?"

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes!" he responded eagerly. Daschnaya laughed softly, glad to see him in brighter spirits again, then appeared solemn.

"Are you certain?" she insisted, spreading the cards in a row with a sweep of her hand. "Fortunes can foretell a very good thing, or a very bad thing. They can be in-depth and descriptive, or confusing and vague. They can better one's life, or they can launch it into absolute ruin. A fortune is not a thing to be taken lightly, so I repeat: _are you certain?_"

"Yep," Deekin replied promptly. Daschnaya sighed, but there was laughter in that exhalation.

"Very well," she relented, patting the row of cards gently. "Choose four cards from the pile without looking at them--just pick the ones that appeal to you--and lay them down in a diamond shape in the center of the table, one card for each side. Yes, just like that. Now pick a fifth one and set it over to the side, apart from the others. Good, good...now, sit back and I'll do the rest." Having arranged the cards as instructed, Deekin did as he was told.

Tenderly, Daschnaya turned each of the first four cards onto their reverse sides. There were no pictures on the card faces, as Deekin had expected, but strange symbols, laboriously etched in ruby inks. Daschnaya hovered a forefinger above them all studiously, discerning their collective meaning; then she leaned back and closed her eyes, murmuring unintelligible things to herself. There were no splashy effects to accompany the chanting, but Deekin could sense true magic in Daschnaya's odd words.

The halfling's murmuring trailed off. Half-opening her eyes, she flipped the final card over, revealing a semi-circular shape with haphazard lines slashed through its rounded sides. Daschnaya stared at it earnestly for a moment; then she scooped the cards back together, shuffled them back into a stately deck and bound it with a leather strip once more. At last, she returned her attention to Deekin.

"'Beware the unlike mirror's gaze,'" she told him.

"Umm, okay," Deekin answered, puzzled. "What that mean?"

"It is your fortune," Daschnaya informed bluntly. "Too loose to say now whether it bodes ill or no...but it should reveal itself to you, in time. Hopefully, you'll realize its meaning at the right moment."

"Huh?"

"Just keep an eye out for a situation where the fortune might come in handy," Daschnaya clarified.

"Oh. Thanks," Deekin said, still rather perplexed and disappointed at his brief, nonsensical foretelling. Daschnaya gave him a sympathetic half-smile.

"Daschnaya sees less than she would like, but often more than she should," she commented, almost apologetically, getting up and walking over to a small chest that she stored the cards in. She paused, wondering whether she should tell him about the adventure awaiting him the cards had foretold weeks earlier, then decided against it. He would find out.

---

The fortune successfully lessened Deekin's worrying over Umbra, if only by creating new worries to push the old ones to the side. What did the fortune mean? Was it good or bad? How would he put it to use, if at all? These questions and more like them raced through the kobold's head as he lie on his bedroll, staring at the ceiling. His dilemma faded a little, though, as he found himself searching the wooden grain of the ceiling for pictures--there a porous rabbit sitting on its haunches and sniffing up at a knothole sun, here a legless troll cradling a cat in its arms, way over there a blocky dwarf with a single, obscenely large eye that glared peculiarly at its woody, indistinguishable surroundings.

The woodgrain patterns provided something in the way of entertainment, but Deekin had visited these accidental images many times before, for the ceiling never changed; he longed for the fresh air and amorphous spontanity of an open sky swathed in fleecy clouds, so vibrant in his mind's eye, though he had never seen it. Maybe one day he'd travel somewhere with bright green grass, fragrant flowers, soft-leaved trees and soft fruit, the likes of which he had only read about. Maybe Umbra would be there to taste the fruits and watch the clouds with him. He felt inspired to write a song about it. The only song he'd ever written had been "Oh! How Smelly the Dragon's Den Be", and Tymofarrar's reaction had put Deekin off songwriting for a while after. With no angry dragon to swoop down on him now, though, songwriting was definitely something to look into. He started writing the song right away, the lyrical verses carrying his worries away.

---

The caravan pushed on. By now, their water supplies were almost entirely gone, which made everyone irritable--including Daschnaya, who was very fond of her tea. Luckily, Deekin had a lot of experience dealing with cranky individuals, and knew how best to avoid an ill-tempered encounter.

They reached a small trading town established around an oasis before long, thankfully. After refilling their canteens and larger water vessels, the caravaners wandered around to do business with the many merchants who sold goods at stands in the marketplace. Deekin was among them; Daschnaya had instructed him to buy fourteen boxes of green tea, and after purchasing the tea from a mousy gnome woman with a lazy eye, the kobold happily proceeded to search the bazaar and buy things of his own.

The first thing he looked for was a clothier--Daschnaya had been polite about it, but his dirty urchin rags were starting to smell, and they were his last change of clothes. The clothier he found was a half-elven man with electric blue eyes and a scraggly clump of tan hair he kept scooped up in a ponytail, and had such pale skin he had to hide under a blanket to keep from crisping in the hot sun--it was a very stylish blanket, of course. He found Deekin a dozen pairs of clothing obviously designed for halflings, but they would do. Deekin paid for the clothes with a fistful of gems he'd taken from the manticore's hoard, then ducked behind a building on the brink of the desert to change into a clean outfit, which consisted of a thick-collared red tunic and a plain pair of brown breeches. Feeling dandy, the kobold continued on.

The next merchant he dealt with was a human, a native Bedine man with a nose like a potato and shifty, bulging dark eyes. Deekin bought from him a new lute--his old one was splintery and decrepit--as well as a blank book, for it was difficult to write on a single sheet of paper when walking, let alone running from hellish creatures. Deekin gave the man a few lumps of gold in payment and started to turn away, when something caught his eye--a slender glass vase of star-shaped pink flowers, the vase twinkling in the desert sun and set upon a small table. Having never seen a flower before in his life--cactus buds aside--Deekin was instantly intrigued by the bouquet.

"Those be flowers?" he asked curiously, stretching out a small, scaly hand to touch the vase. The Bedine merchant slapped the kobold's hand away and avered, "Yes, my scaly friend, those are indeed, flowers, finest you'll find in the An--anywhere, but in the Anauroch especially. They were watered with only the finest water from the purest springs, grown in the fertile fields of Maztica, from the seeds of a fair dryad's tree, coaxed to life after years of loving labor by the best farmers in all of Calimshan--"

"You just say flowers was grown in Maztica," Deekin interrupted.

"Well, uh, the best farmers in all of Calimshan went to Maztica to grow the seeds," the merchant gibbered quickly.

"Oh, okies," Deekin accepted. "Deekin buys them, then."

"For a ladyfriend?" the merchant chuckled, amused at the thought of a kobold romance.

"Something likes that," Deekin smiled. "How much does they cost?"

The merchant tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Well, I'd say--" He paused, then asked, "About how much money in gold pieces would you say you have?"

"Umm, Deekin dunno, he gots lots of gems and gold...1,110 goldpieces, maybe?" the kobold estimated.

"Oh, what a coincidence!" the merchant smirked. "The flowers cost 1,110 goldpieces!"

"But...but that be all Deekin's money!" Deekin protested.

"Well, they _are_ very rare," the merchant said steadfastly. "I could just wait until a customer who is willing to pay comes along, and I have a lot of customers who'd be glad to take them, who'd pay more for them than some selfish little lizard."

"Okay, Deekin pays it," Deekin relented mournfully, taking off his pack and removing all the valuable jewels and precious metals, then imparting them to merchant's greedy, grubby hands. The merchant's eyes lit up; after pocketing the goods with a yellow-toothed grin, he shoved the vase into Deekin's arms.

"Now go on, get out of here," he commanded. "You're scaring away my customers." Deekin obediently walked away, unaware he'd just been swindled, and inspected the flowers. They were pretty, of course, but didn't quite live up to his expectations. For instance, he hadn't expected the flowers to smell like cheap cologne. Or feel like coarse cloth. But he was certain that he was just being picky.

Deekin left the hustle and bustle of the bazaar, haggling voices screeching argumentatively at each other and occasionally shouting snide insults his way--kobolds weren't exactly popular--until he came upon the caravan, parked just outside the disagreeable town. After giving Daschnaya her boxes of tea, Deekin stopped and examined the caravan encampment. The central caravan was Umbra's. Walking past Katriana, who was tapping her foot as she impatiently awaited the other caravaners' returns, Deekin made his way to that caravan. Setting the vase down in the sand beneath the caravan, where it would be out of sight to anyone looking out, Deekin climbed midway up the short steps and knocked lightly on the door.

Dorna opened it and looked down at him.

"Yes, what is it you want?" the dwarf asked with a hint of suspicion.

"Umbra be in there?" he questioned.

"No, actually," Dorna replied. "She left quite a while ago."

"Where she go?"

"Hmm, that way, I think." Dorna pointed off to the west, where only miles of desert sands lie. "It's strange, but she wanders off every night and always gets back safely. I wouldn't worry about it."

"Oh," Deekin uttered with a sinking feeling of disappointment. "Oh...thanks for telling Deekin. Me be going now." Dorna nodded and shut the door as he leapt down off the steps, taking the vase out from under the caravan and pushing it down in his pack. He heaved a saddened sigh and sat down in the sand; he wouldn't be seeing Umbra today, either. Some other time, perhaps...

Deekin sat there in the sand for a while, laden with ennui as he dipped his toes in the sand, then flung them back out and twiddled them. He should probably be working on copying his old notes into the blank pages of his new book, but didn't feel up to the task right then. At least the sun wasn't as hot as it had been--in fact, he couldn't even see it past that strange cloud off to the west.

Wait. That _was_ a strange cloud, Deekin realized, staring at it studiously. It appeared to be a wall of sand...

"**SANDSTORM!**" panic-stricken voices rang out. The marketplace closed up in a hurry, and the caravaners came rushing back to camp, shutting themselves up in the caravans for cover against the oncoming storm. Deekin scrambled to his feet and ran to Daschnaya's caravan, then paused and headed for the middle wagon instead, hopping up the steps and pounding on the door. Dorna opened it with a disgruntled look.

"What do ye want now?" she grumbled.

"Umbra be in there with you?" he inquired.

"No, she isn't," Dorna answered. "It doesn't matter. She can take care of herself."

"But this be sandstorm!" Deekin cried. Dorna shrugged and shut the door against the flying grains of sand already whipping through the air. Deekin groaned and stepped down, staring off at the west. Umbra was out there, somewhere, and as great a hero as she was, stood no chance against the forces of nature. The storm would be even worse where she was--could she even see? Would she be able to find her way back after the disorienting sand flurry finally passed? Probably not; the thought of Umbra getting lost in the desert made Deekin queasy. Someone had to go out to get her and lead her back to camp. The kobold cast a look around the encampment, but everyone was inside the caravans, waiting for the storm to blow over. It didn't look like anyone else would be volunteering to go out and look for her.

Determined, Deekin thanked Kurtulmak for his full canteen of fresh water, raised a hand over squinted eyes to ward off the rogue sand grains, and set off into the storm.

---

Deekin made his way through wave after wave of blinding sand. He did his best to shield his eyes with his hands, but the strong winds forced sand through anyway, forcing him to close his eyes altogether. Not that it made much difference; the sand obstructed so much of his vision he was blinded either way. His eyes swelled with tears in an attempt to flood some of the grit out, but his eyelids squeezed shut over the eyeballs and kept the sand lodged firmly where it was. This caused him a great deal of discomfort, and that was to say nothing of the sand filling his nostrils and impairing his breathing. He clamped his jaws shut, but some sand found its way into his mouth anyway, coating his tongue with an unpleasant, dusty taste as the surging storm blasted his scales. Considering all this and the fierce wind pushing him back or bowling him over every other step, it was obvious that the best thing now would be to turn back; yet the kobold persevered, unable to bear the notion of leaving his dear hero behind.

Deekin didn't know how long he'd been struggling on, but decided he should open his eyes and see if he could see anything. He opened them, and did see something--a dark claw reaching past the veil of sand to grab him.

"-- --- ------ --- down!" instructed a voice, the rest of its sentence drowned out by roaring winds. The clawlike hand slapped Deekin on the back and shoved him facedown in the sand.

At first, Deekin sputtered and floundered his limbs, trying to get back up, but the hand pressed firmly between his shoulder blades prevented him from doing so. Gradually he stopped fighting, and he found that by keeping low to the ground, most of the sandstorm passed over him harmlessly. After some time, the sandstorm subsided and the claw lifted from his back. Spitting out a mouthful of sand, Deekin leapt to his feet and whirled around to see who had held him there.

It was Umbra.

"Boss?" he piped in disbelief, though quite pleased. "What you be doing here?"

"I saw you fighting against the winds," she replied. "I would ask what you are doing out here."

"Boss be out all alone, lost in the sandstorm," he explained, "so little Deekin goes out to helps the great hero." He looked down at his feet. "Only...it seems the great hero helped little Deekin, huh?"

Umbra was silent a moment; then she knelt down to get a closer look at Deekin.

"This one wishes to know...why do you call me a 'great hero'?" she queried.

"Because that what Boss be!" Deekin responded. "You protects the weak, you vanquishes the forces of evil, you be great hero of song and legend! That be why Deekin has to writes your story, and preserves it for future generations!"

There was another silence; Deekin took this oppurtunity to wipe some sand out of his eyes.

"That is what you believe me to be, is it?" she wondered, to which Deekin nodded cheerily. "Very well, then. That is what this one...that is what I shall be." Deekin didn't quite understand that part, but nodded again anyway.

"One more thing," Umbra added. "Why do you call me 'Boss'?"

"Because you be the Boss, Boss!" Deekin stated matter-of-factly. "You wants Deekin should calls you something else?"

"You may call me by my name," she answered.

"Okay, Umbra Lumina! Deekin does whatever you says, Umbra Lumina!" he tried obediently.

"On second thought...'Boss' would be preferable."

"Okies, Boss!"

"You can lead us back to the caravan, can you not?"

"Yep! Err...that is, yep, Deekin can."

"Then lead the way, Deekin."

It was the first time she had ever spoken his name when referring to him directly, and that made Deekin feel special.

"Right away, Boss!"

Off they went, the nebbish sidekick and the stolid hero.

---

The sandstorm had mostly died off, but little flecks of sand still hovered in the air. Deekin coughed on the airborne grains as he puzzled out the way back to camp; the sun was just past high noon before the sandstorm set in, and now it was about ready to set. Recalling instructions from an old book, Deekin was able to calculate the approximate position of the caravan encampment. Assuming he hadn't wandered too far east or west, they should come upon the camp eventually.

Deekin glanced up at Umbra and noticed that she was holding up the very crystal she had bargained with him for back in the Silver Marches. The sphere sparkled in the light of the dusky sky, reminding Deekin of that time he had been leaving the crypt and held the crystal up to dawnlight--how long ago had that been?--and prompting him to ask Umbra, "What you knows about little crystal?"

Umbra was quiet a moment; the sky went a little darker. At last, she said, "I know that it is called a mythallar." Deekin's heart jumped as he remembered what Daschnaya had said about one of the students knowing more than they were letting on.

"What else you knows about it?" he prodded.

Umbra was very hesitant, but she told him, "This is one of many powerful artifacts from the time of the ancient civilization of Netheril. The arcane energy they generated kept the Netherese cities adrift."

"Really?!" Deekin squeaked. "All that power be in one little crystal?"

"Indeed," Umbra went on. "There is a great extent of power contained in this. Were the mythallar to be damaged, the contained energy would be unleashed, causing great destruction for several miles." Deekin's stomach churned.

"Umm...suddenly Deekin feel sick...he play catch with crystal for hours back in hills," he said queasily.

"Then may Vecna be praised that it remains intact," she venerated emotionlessly, slipping the mythallar back into her pack as they walked on. The sun had dipped below the horizon entirely now, leaving behind a pitch-black sky. Deekin admired the happily twinkling stars which pierced the otherwise bleak night--the moon was just a pallid sliver--and smiled, shivering a little in the new night chill.

"Night sky be pretty, huh Boss?" he remarked.

"It is a beautiful sight," she agreed. There was a short silence.

"You looks at the stars, Boss?"

"No." Umbra's tone was still blank, but strangely faded. "This one gazes at their shadows."

"Their shadows?" Deekin repeated quizzically, scrutinizing the sky. "Deekin not sees any star shadows."

"They are not meant to be seen," she returned. "The shadows are concealed...but they are there."

"Oh." Deekin was pensive. "But the stars themselves be nice to look at."

"Yes," Umbra recognized, "I suppose they are, after all."

"Yep!" Deekin beamed. "There be lots of them! And there be constellations--the stars makes pictures! Deekin knows them all--well, most of them--by heart."

"Do you really?" Umbra inquired, her voice picking up a little strength as she pointed up to a star twinkling brilliant in the northern hemisphere. "What is that star called?"

So Deekin told her, and that is how the night proceeded. As they journeyed on in search of the caravan, Umbra would ask about various stars, and Deekin would name them, then detail a constellation or ancient myth that went along with it. His facts were a little distorted--it had been a while since he read any books on astronomy--but that hardly mattered to either of them. As they conversed, Deekin noticed a surprising thing: Umbra's voice had emotion. The emotion was vague, but it was there; she was happy.

---

It took long enough, but Deekin got them back to camp eventually. The two stood on a tall sand dune overlooking the site from a distance, viewing the three sections of the caravan, the oxen pen, and the caravaners out calling their names.

"Deekin guesses we gots to go now, huh?" Deekin said reluctantly, sad that it had to end.

"Indeed," Umbra relented, also remorseful. They lingered silently for another moment.

"Oh!" Deekin cried suddenly, his eyes widening. He took off his pack and set it on the ground, searching through it and bringing out the vase of flowers, offering them to Umbra. "Deekin buys these for you." Umbra took them carefully.

"Deekin..." To his surprise, she reached a spidery hand out and lightly stroked his temple; her touch was cool and comforting. "Thank you. I shall cherish them."

"You is welcome, Boss," he smiled brightly as she put the flowers in her own pack, then withdrew something from it. Unclasping one long, dark hand, she dropped something in his palm.

"I have little to give, so I give you this," she said to him, her voice even happier than it had been all night, though still quiet. She started away toward the encampment. "Farewell, until our next meeting."

"Farewell," Deekin echoed, watching her go and slip away into the middle caravan, then turned his attention to what she had placed in his palm. It was a black shard of something, but Umbra had given it to him, and that made it more precious than any gem.

Tucking the dark shard into a small pocket on his new tunic, Deekin put his pack back on and rushed off to Daschnaya's caravan.

---

Deekin got very little sleep that night. Not only had he spent much of it wandering the desert, but as soon as he got back he took out his notes and his blank book and copied the old notes onto the crisp new pages, improving not just the neatness and handwriting but the general story quality as well. Once this had been accomplished, he excitedly dipped his quill in the inkwell and wrote all about that night. Finally, he finished. With a last satisfied smile at his work, he let sleep overcome him and dropped onto his bedroll without even crawling in, falling into a tranquil, pleasant slumber.

---

After another week of traveling--and incessant story-editing, on Deekin's part--the caravan came to yet another halt. The other caravaners poured out, and from where he was, Deekin could hear a great whoopla being made outside.

"They sounds very excited," he commented.

"And they should be!" Katriana cried, bursting into Daschnaya's caravan. "_We're here!_"

(But where is here? Find out this and more, in Chapter Eleven! Don't forget to review, mind you.)


	11. True Apathy

(A/N: Hmmm...haven't got much to say for a change. Thank-you Lissette, Coranth and Guan for reviewing last chapter. Here's more, and I'll be quicker about updating now that I've remembered the ancient Briarese secret that kept me updating so quickly before.

Disclaimer: I...DO...NOT...OWN...NEVERWINTER...NIGHTS, so says my Ouija board.)

**Dependence I: Heartsinger**

Chapter Eleven

Katriana let the sentence dangle dramatically.

Finally, Deekin ventured, "Umm...where be here, exactly?"

"You've been traveling with Daschnaya for the entire trip," Katriana returned. "Didn't she tell you?"

"To be honest, Katriana," Daschnaya broke in, "I don't know either." She sighed. "No one tells old Daschnaya anything, anymore."

Katriana rolled her eyes and told them, "We've come to a camp of Ao worshippers. Around here somewhere is the arc--"

"Ao?" Deekin interrupted. "That be God of Apathy, right?"

"Yes--" Katriana started.

"Great and powerful god that throw other gods out of heaven and makes them walk Toril, causing Time of Troubles?"

"Yes!" Katriana answered, exasperated. "Is there another Ao? No. Now let me finish."

"Sorries."

"_Anyway_," Katriana went on irritably, "around here somewhere is archaeology site where the man Drogan's students are looking for is. That's why we're here. Umbra and the other pupils are asking around the Ao encampment for directions to the site as we speak. I'm telling you this so you don't go running out into another sandstorm looking for her, kobold."

"Sorries, again."

"I'll be leaving now," Katriana informed them, climbing down the steps. "There's a lot of work to be done before we turn around and head back across the desert." She closed the door behind her. No sooner had she left, than Deekin promptly began gathering up his belongings and fitting them inside his pack.

"You are going out see Umbra again, no?" Daschnaya asked dryly as he worked.

"Yep," Deekin replied, carefully edging his notebook into the pack.

"Be careful," Daschnaya advised as he closed the flap over the pack's top. "You've already seen the dangers that follow Umbra--"

"Deekin not care," he insisted, tugging the pack and the strap of his lute over his shoulders. "The great hero keeps Deekin safe."

"That may be true," Daschnaya frowned, "but even she can't keep you safe from everything."

"Why you be so worried?" Deekin asked, turning toward the door. "Deekin just go out to see Boss, then me be right back, Deekin promises."

"Yes," Daschnaya relented. "Just remember what I forecast, and be careful."

"Deekin remembers," he assured, and left. The old halfling sat there ruminatively, absentmindedly stroking the cards she held in her wrinkled palm with one thumb. It was here that Deekin's adventures would truly begin, she knew; she would not see him again.

Deekin clambered out of the caravan, tripping on the last step and landing awkwardly in the sand. Getting to his feet, he checked his pack to make sure nothing important had broken this time--nope, nothing had--and when he checked his pocket the gift from Umbra was still whole. He admired the given gem's dark, faceted surface for a moment, as he had many times before, and knew it was a shard of some strange material. He doubted it was jet, onyx, ebony or obsidian, mostly because its sleek black surface was far from static. If he looked at it closely, its seemed to move. He couldn't see anything like that right presently, so he pocketed the shard and started off. He hadn't gone more than two paces, when Torias gave him such a dolorous look he had to stop again.

"Aye, so I guess you'll be off then, now that we're here," Torias sighed, leaning against the side of a caravan and shuffling his feet, kicking up a small sandstorm.

"Why halfling be so upset?" Deekin wondered.

"Oh, it's nothing... just that I'll miss you, is all," Torias reminisced. "You were a fine, fine companion to lighten up such a dreary trip, you know."

"What abouts the mean things you says about Deekin's stew?"

"Hey...I didn't say your stew was a fine, fine companion." Torias remembered what he'd been saying and resumed his dejected act. "It's my only hope, really, that you might deign to satisfy one last request from a good friend." Torias expelled an especially heavy sigh.

"Deekin do whatever he can," Deekin offered sympathetically.

"Well, here's the thing... it's nothing illegal or anything like that. Nothing that would cause you any real trouble, per se..." Torias drew it out for a moment, judging his words before continuing. "The Aoists in this camp make a fine, fine wine... most wonderful thing you'll ever taste outside of the elven vineyards. I'm not joking, either. I had a taste the last time we went through here." He smiled at the thought, then frowned deeply. "The thing is that they keep their wine for 'religious purposes' only. Bloody selfish bastards! They won't let me back in the camp now, even."

"They gots wine?" Deekin queried innocently. "Deekin never tries wine before. Does it makes you happy?"

"_Very_ happy," Torias chuckled.

"Well that not sounds so bad, then," Deekin decided. "Deekin try to find wine for you."

"Now that's what I wanted to hear!" Torias whooped enthusiastically. "Woo-hoo!"

"Deekin should go now," the kobold reminded.

"Have fun!" Torias grinned, waving wholeheartedly after the reptilian as he left.

Despite what he'd said back in the caravan, Deekin _was_ worried. He attempted to soothe his nerves by telling himself over and over that there was nothing to be troubled about: he was only to going out to the Ao worshippers' camp to talk to the Boss, and would come back when she did. Simple as that. So why couldn't he shake this antsy feeling? Daschnaya just had him worried, that was all, he told himself as he jogged along the sandy, twisting path to the Aoists' encampment.

When trying to reason with his concerns failed, he gave up and pushed them aside entirely by turning his mind to something else. Like...Ao. He had read a book once, of how Ao had cast the other gods out of the heavens after being angered, though by whom Deekin couldn't recall. The gods had been forced to walk Toril for an entire year; during this time--often called the Time of the Troubles--many of the gods had been killed and replaced, though his god, Kurtulmak, had survived. Deekin imagined Kurtulmak as a kobold, darting beneath the feet of the taller, more powerful gods, keeping his wits about him to remain alive. The idea amused him; then he thought of Vecna, Umbra's god.

The God of Secrets, Vecna was usually depicted as a lich missing his left eye and left hand. The thought of that skeletal, mutilated figure wandering Toril sent shivers up Deekin's spine. There were many names for Vecna, none of them pleasant--the Maimed Lord, the Whispered One, and the Master of All That Is Secret and Hidden. Did Umbra really worship him? Or was there another reason she wore a robe enchanted by that abominable deity? That had to be the case; the great hero could never follow something so evil as Vecna. Of course, now that Deekin thought about it, his own god was also evil. Now might be the time to consider following another god--maybe Ao, who was obviously the most powerful of gods. Perhaps one of the Aoists could help him decide.

Speaking of Aoists, he was about to enter their camp now. A wooden fence surrounded the place, a barbed gate the only means of entry. To be able to spend all this wood in the desert someone must be very rich, Deekin observed.

Standing just in front of the gate was the guard, a dark-haired young man in red-and-brown armor. He looked tired, weathered and thirsty, but gripped a plain quarterstaff tightly in his hands and stood in spite of his fatigue. As Deekin approached, the guard pressed the end of his quarterstaff against the kobold's ribs to keep him from going any further.

"Ho there, kobold," he commanded sternly. "What's your business here?"

Drawing back a little and rubbing the sore spot where the quarterstaff had been, Deekin replied, "Deekin be looking for Boss. You sees her?"

"That depends," the guard answered. "What does she look like?"

Deekin thought a moment. "Well, she be very tall, not talks much, gots very dark skin, wears hood--"

"I've seen her," the guard responded. "She just went through this gate--"

"--and she be great, great hero, who go on grand adventures, and slays horrible beasts--" Deekin went on.

"Okay, kobold. I got it," the guard interrupted.

"Sorries. Uh, you lets Deekin through the gate, maybe?"

"I dunno. How do I know you won't cause trouble?"

"Uhh..." As Deekin struggled to plead his case, Dorna poked her head through a gap in the wooden fence.

"The kobold's with me," she said, then pulled her head back in and walked off.

"Oh, so you're traveling with Drogan's students!" the guard smiled brightly, heaving open the barbed gate. "Sorry about that, you can go in." Silently thanking Dorna, Deekin did just that.

The Aoist camp, on the other hand, was far from silent. The Ao worshippers--who came in all shapes and sizes--constantly chattered among themselves, congregated in prayer groups or walking as they discussed the meaning of True Apathy. Only a few of them managed to meditate amid the noise. So involved were they in their religious findings, in fact, they didn't even notice the kobold scurrying about their camp and asking if anyone had seen a tall, hooded figure. Someone finally pointed him to a woman named Jasmeena who--though hooded--was definitely not Umbra. Deekin would have asked her if she'd seen Umbra, but Jasmeena was busy tending to a small garden of frail green plants, and the lithe spotted leopard at her side didn't look friendly. Instead, Deekin turned and skittered away toward the temple--he might as well see if he could get some wine for Torias while he searched.

For all the money put into building the fence and gate, the temple itself was nothing special--just a plain stone structure, and a small one, at that. In fact, when he got in, there were only a few inhabitants, kneeling in prayer before a priest who closed his eyes and read sermons aloud from his own mind. Deekin lingered indecisively, unwilling to disrupt this holy session--then caught sight of a large barrel, resting upon a table and surrounded by tankards filled with liquid that smelled of aged fruit, and could only be the Ao wine. Deekin trepidly inched closer to the table, weighing the rights and wrongs of the situation in his head. Torias really wanted the drink, and surely it couldn't hurt--but no, Deekin admonished himself, stealing was wrong. He'd already helped steal the artifacts, and he'd resolved not to steal again. He faced away from the table, true to his vow.

The priest was done with his preachings, the worshippers clasping their hands together in private prayer to Ao. Noticing this, Deekin scampered over and struck up a conversation with the priest.

"Hello!" Deekin beamed.

"Welcome to the humble abode of we few followers of Lord Ao," the priest greeted kindly, seemingly oblivious of the other speaker's species. Appreciative of this, Deekin suddenly remembered what he had been intending to ask earlier, and asked it--right after asking if the priest had seen Umbra, which he hadn't.

"Deekin wants to follow Ao, maybe," he started. "How Deekin does that?"

"There is a test of wisdom to see if one has the right state of mind," the priest said to the kobold. "Then you must only follow your own path to seek the great god. There is no dogma to practice, here."

Deekin liked the sound of this. "Can Deekin take that test?"

"If you wish," replied the priest. "Taking the test does not make one a follower unless that is your wish. Nothing is forced on anyone by Ao."

Again, Deekin liked the sound of this new god. He indicated that he'd like to take the test, so the priest recited a riddle:

"Lighter than air, heavier than the mountains, longer than a river, shorter than a breath, without end, yet always finished. What am I?"

Normally, Deekin considered himself to be apt at solving riddles and puzzles, having read pages of them back in the Nether Mountains. This one seemed to have many answers, though, and he racked his brain for the best one.

"Light."

Deekin jumped at the voice, spinning around to see Umbra standing behind him. The priest was delighted with Umbra's answer.

"Light! What magnificent insight! I do believe that is the best answer I have ever heard," the priest commended her.

"Could it be possible?" one of the worshippers wondered, looking up from his prayers. "Could this be the one we have been waiting for?"

"Yes, yes, it must be her!" a female worshipper cried. "This is what we have sought!"

"I... I suppose it could be," murmured a third. "It was a very good answer, after all."

"What you be talking about?" Deekin asked quizzically, Umbra remaining silent and unmoving all the while.

"You are the avatar, the incarnation of our god," the female worshipper said delightedly to Umbra, whose apathy only seemed to encourage her. "You are Ao!"

"Wh-what?! Wait now, what are you talking about?" the priest blustered, alarmed. "This is not Ao!"

"Yes she is! I can sense her power now!" the devout woman insisted, turning to Umbra once more with starshine in her eyes. "My Great Lord, thank you for coming to us!"

"Deekin always think Boss be god," Deekin remarked excitedly, thoroughly convinced. "Now Deekin knows for sure!"

"Praise heaven, you have come to us at last!" one worshipper sobbed happily. "How would you like me to beat myself for your worship, Holy Ao?"

Umbra said nothing. She simply turned and walked out of the temple, much to the priest's relief. The worshipper began banging his head loudly on the floor--whether out of frustration or desire to please Ao, Deekin did not know. Nor did he care; he just ran out of the temple, intent on catching up to his hero.

Umbra was waiting for him outside, a dark figure cut out of a bright sky. As soon as he arrived, she began briskly striding away from the place, Deekin close behind.

"So you be great god, Boss?" Deekin cried. "Deekin just knew--"

"This one is no god, Deekin," Umbra said bluntly, hands outstretched and empty, her swords tucked away in their scabbards.

"Oh, sorries. Goddess."

"No," Umbra corrected. "I am no more a deity than you are."

"Oh," Deekin realized, then grinned sheepishly. "Deekin guesses he got a little carried away." He paused. "Since we be talkings 'bout gods...does you worship Vecna?"

"What leads you to assume this?" Umbra inquired stolidly.

"Well, you wears robe of Vecna," he pointed out.

"That is the base of your reasoning?"

"Yep...so, does you?"

"No, this one does not. This one wears this robe for its...arcane properties."

"Oh. So then, who does Boss worship?"

"No one," she told him. "No one at all."

---

Umbra was quiet again, so Deekin fell silent as well, bringing his notebook, quill and inkwell out of his pack to record this latest escapade. The din of the camp and the padding of their footfalls kept the noise from entirely fading away.

Eventually, Deekin returned his writing supplies to his pack and saw that they had left the camp, which didn't seem to have a back fence--something Deekin wished he'd known earlier.

"Where we be goings, Boss?" he asked Umbra.

"We are bound for the archaeology site," she answered.

"You gets directions?"

"Yes."

"Okays, Boss." He smiled to himself. God or no, he was thrilled to be with the Boss again.

(And so ends Chapter Eleven. I hope you enjoyed it. I hope you review.)


	12. Doom

(A/N: Thanks to Guan, Coranth, snackfiend101 and VaguelyFamiliar for reviewing last chapter! Deekin and I are so happy! Because of you, this story is now the most reviewed in the Neverwinter Nights section! Thank-you again, and sorry this chapter took so long. On the bright side, I downloaded a nifty Neverwinter font for it...a shame you can't see it.

Caution: This chapter differs from the game. Also, it's much darker than the previous chapters. Still humorous, though.

Plug: Obviously, I'm a great fan of Deekin. My second favorite character is Xanos but sadly, I was unable to find many parts for him in my story. To remedy this, I highly recommend you read "Castles in the Sky" by VaguelyFamiliar to catch up on all the great Xanosness you're missing out on :D

Disclaimer: Neverwinter Nights isn't mine.)

**Dependence I: Heartsinger**

Chapter Twelve

The camp shrank out of sight as they traveled. Deekin looked over his shoulder and watched it go, then looked ahead to see a mile-long cliff rising up before them. He gazed up at the towering precipice in awe as he followed Umbra down its length, to a small waterfall that cascaded in white sheets into a sparkling pool, which kept the Ao encampment watered through a series of underground tunnels. Umbra treaded the banks of the pool, then slipped behind the waterfall, careful not to get her robe wet. Deekin carelessly slopped through the waterfall with a wide grin, drinking some of it as he went through. In this dry heat, the cool water was a great relief.

Behind the waterfall a narrow passage was cut into the rock. Umbra had to stoop down to get through it, but little Deekin was able to walk through standing at his full height. When they exited the passage, Umbra and Deekin found themselves overlooking a magnificent canyon, the highest peaks of which were oddly shaped formations with fat tops that tapered off toward the bottom. When the wind whistled through them, it produced a sound not unlike a dying man's screams.

"This place was named the Valley of Winds quite aptly," Umbra remarked. Deekin nodded--then looked down, and blanched beneath his verdant scales.

The passageway they had taken ended midway up one of the canyon's tall, steep walls. A very narrow set of stairs had been chinked out of the stone face beneath them, which would, in theory, lead them safely to the ground. But, Deekin thought nervously as he eyed it, the meager limestone steps looked as though they might flake away at any moment.

Not that this bothered Umbra, who promptly set off down the carved stairway without even lifting her robes to free her feet, leaving the hem to brush against the ground. Surprisingly, this didn't seem to obstruct her movement. Meanwhile, Deekin stood stock-still, dubiously studying the uneven, shoddy stone steps before him that could only mean doom...

Doom.

"Doom doom," Deekin muttered to himself, gingerly setting one foot on the first step. When it didn't give way and send him sprawling to his doom--"Doom doom doom," he added--Deekin relaxed a smidgen and planted the other foot on the step. Standing triumphant, he gazed down and saw that Umbra was already halfway to the ground. Realizing he'd better hurry, Deekin began cautiously hopping down the steps.

"Doom doom," he chanted to himself as he went. "Doom doom, doom doom doomity doom doooom! Doomity doom doom doom dooom! We is all doooooomed!" He smiled and quickened his pace, gaining confidence. "Doomity doomity DOOM DOOM DOOM DOOOOOMM!!" He was past the halfway mark now, and Umbra was waiting for him at the bottom. "Doom doom doom doom doom doom DOOM DOOM DOOM!" Now on the second step, he grinned, bunched his legs and lightheartedly skipped over the last step to the ground. "Doom!"

"Doom?" Umbra repeated ponderously.

"Doom!" Deekin affirmed.

"Doom," Umbra mused, thoughtfully turning and striding away. Deekin scurried to keep up and sang the newly invented "Doom Song" as he scribbled a brief note in his notebook.

They hadn't walked far through the rocky gorge, when they came upon a wide ravine split down so deep that there was no hint of a bottom; only utter darkness permeated the gap. A thin strip of stone bridged the crevasse, which Umbra strode over without a second thought. Deekin, who was having second, third, fourth and fifth thoughts about this, reluctantly stepped out onto the extension--and immediately dropped to his knees. Deciding it would be too risky to cross it while standing, he opted for clinging to the natural bridge with all four limbs and scooting along on his belly, singing the Doom Song under his breath. Umbra reached the other side long before he, but he made it without incident and that more than compensated for the lost time, he thought. Umbra said nothing about it, but simply continued on once he was safely across.

Having conquered two dangers in a short span of time, Deekin was in good spirits and sang the Doom Song with a peppy irony. A short walk later the gorge opened up to a large clearing. Umbra stopped dead in her tracks upon entering it; Deekin barely avoided crashing into her, then did the same. Despite their differences, the kobold's and the cowled hero's replies to the sight before them were in unison:

"Oh, no."

They had reached the archaeology site, but too late. It was a massacre--mutilated bodies strewn here and there around the tents, sanguine organs and splashes of blood deposited in sticky lumps about the place, trailing from the fatal wounds on myriad corpses. Here a woman had bled to death reaching for her detached leg; there a man's body was frozen in place as his bloody stump of a neck peeked out of his tent, his wandering head cut off and resting in the sand with a puzzled look. Many a body had been gored beyond recognition; several people had died staring in horror at their bare bones or revealed innards; more than one person was torn apart while comforting or trying to protect a dying friend; some had tried to group together to fend off their foe, and were consequently slain and left in piles upon each other. The only clues to the killer's identity were the many clawmarks left in the bloody sand and fetid corpses.

Deekin was dumbstruck. Umbra did not speak either; slowly, she stepped forward into the macabre scene. Doing her best to avoid the bits of cadaver tossed all about, she wordlessly surveyed the mass destruction. Deekin could read no expression on her unmoving face. Trembling with terror, he scampered over to her, gore and blood-soaked sand squelching unpleasantly beneath his feet.

"Who does this?" he whispered, half to himself. "Even gnolls not does thing like this. Somebody like Old Boss, maybe..."

Umbra was silent. Deekin went on timorously, "There be somebody with lots of power like Old Boss out there..." He paused fearfully. "Maybe somebody who wants to hurts Boss, or even Deekin." He looked up at Umbra. "Is Boss not scared?"

"Never fear," Umbra replied assuredly, turning toward him and stooping slightly to level their faces. "This one shall protect you. This, I vow."

He gave her a slight, frightened smile. "Deekin is happy to hears that...though he wonders, who protects Boss?"

"Never fear," Umbra said again, standing and walking once more. Deekin followed, getting out his notebook and writing something down. After putting the book back, he looked at his morbid surroundings and commented uneasily, "Deekin always think writing epic story of Boss be exciting and fun...but now it get scary. Deekin not expects that."

Umbra stopped again, and Deekin saw why. In front of them was a very deep pit in the ground. Over the side slumped a single corpse, its face permanently fixed in a mask of horror. The face wasn't so important, though, as the corpse's arm, dangling over the pit, its index finger outstretched. It was pointing down. Deekin's eyes followed the gesture to a doorway carved into the side of the pit, several blood-spattered rock steps leading down to it. They had to go down there.

Down they went.

---

Past the doorway, things weren't much better. At least five corpses--most were in many pieces, and Deekin didn't care to examine them long enough to find out which body part belonged to which body--lay in their own blood just in front of the entrance, having scrambled for freedom and never made it. The ones that had made it had most likely fallen to their deaths. Deekin's stomach churned at the stench of drying blood and decomposition; he turned his face up and gazed at the chamber they'd entered instead.

It was no stinger tunnel, that was for sure, but the underground ruins of a human structure--perhaps one of the fallen cities of Netheril! he mused with an excited shiver. He was standing at the intersection of two angular halls, carved out of stone and carrying the musty smell of age. He leaned his head further, wondering what lie at the halls' ends.

"Fall back," Umbra commanded, yanking Deekin backwards. "Fall silent." Deekin obeyed; Umbra murmured and swung her long hands. His field of vision flickered, then darkened. He blinked, but the effect remained. Twisting his head, he could see Umbra clearly, yet all around them was a large sphere of transparent blackness. Inspecting this oddity more closely, he could see the surface writhed slightly, as though with a life of its own. Intrigued, he pulled out the shard Umbra had given him and held it up to the sphere. The shard's and the sphere's dark swirlings were a perfect match.

Umbra set a cool palm upon his head, careless of his horns, and prompted him to look up. Tucking the shard away, he did so.

Past the obscuration, his keen kobold eyes could make out the dim halls. There was a dull thudding noise, growing louder quickly, until a green, froglike creature slumped into view. In place of hands it bore swollen, bloodstained claws, which hung slack at the sides of its hunched-over humanoid frame. The monster swiveled its squat head and squinted through the darkness with gleaming, pupilless red eyes; perceiving that there was nothing there, it shrugged its lumpy shoulders and shuffled on out of sight.

"You sees that, Boss?" Deekin gasped. "That be slaad! That be what kills--"

"We are cloaked by a globe of invisibility," Umbra cut in quietly. "Noise would betray us." After puzzling that sentence out, Deekin nodded and kept his mouth shut. He was certain the great hero could easily defeat that slaad--even if it was an otherwordly monstrosity--but who knew what else lie within this long-buried place? It would be best to stay hidden until they figured things out.

Fortunately, the globe moved with them as they walked, Umbra in the lead--he supposed she didn't trust him not to race ahead into trouble after the incident with then manticore. They headed down the hall the slaad had gone down, traipsing quietly just behind the beast. Deekin felt uneasy in such close proximity to the foul planar, but believed that Umbra knew best. Indeed, the slaad never once detected their presence. There were more slaadi--some green, some blue, some red--as Umbra and Deekin embarked farther down the excavated halls, as well as the occasional shredded archaeologist remains to reinstate the horror. Deekin could smell his own fear; he hoped the globe kept the scent from reaching the slaadi.

That impending feeling of doom--how Deekin longed to sing the Doom Song right then--hung heavier in the stale air with every passing step. They wandered farther and farther into the treacherous network of halls, reminding Deekin of his time in the Silver Marches, fleeing from undead in the crypts with the other kobolds. Even then, though, he had not been overcome with such dread. The smallest things were making him jump, and he could swear the rusted suits of armor and stone gargoyles that lined the corridors were watching him with hidden eyes.

_"Never fear. This one shall protect you. This, I vow."_

Umbra said nothing now, but Deekin remembered her past words to him. He smiled up faithfully at the Boss. Yes, of course the great hero would protect him. His nerves eased, and they continued on.

Carefully trodding on thickly dusted floors, Deekin viewed their surroundings. They had turned down a very wide hall now, one lined with tall, ornate pillars. Just in front of them was a group of red slaadi, who were kicking around some burnt corpses and making a game of it. Deekin was sickened, but followed Umbra as she tried to pass them.

"**Yogu domm boshu!**" a gray slaad growled suddenly, coming out of a back room. The red slaadi looked about in confusion. The gray slaad muttered something to itself, then cast a spell. The barrier hiding Umbra and Deekin vanished.

"**YOGU DOMM BOSHU!**" the gray slaad repeated irritably, gesturing at the hero and the kobold.

"**Ooohhh**," realized the red slaadi, then rushed to attack the two intruders. Seeing that there was no time to prepare a powerful spell, Umbra drew her glowing swords and slashed at the slaadi. Deekin stepped back, wondering whether he should reach for his crossbow. It didn't seem like a good idea; if his guess was correct and all a bolt in the shoulder did was merely annoy a slaad, the creature could easily swagger over, mash him to a pulp, and return to the battle with Umbra, and then Deekin wouldn't be of much help to anyone, except maybe some starving rats. No, he'd have to think of something else.

But there wasn't much time to think--two slaadi were lumbering toward him. Deekin cast "Color Spray", which disoriented them long enough to give him time to think. Of course!

The slaadi recovered themselves and lunged simultaneously at the kobold, who smiled confidently at them, then spread out his hand. A flash of frost burst out at the monsters, encrusting them in a thin layer of ice. Enduring bouts of hypothermia at this sudden chill, the slaadi collapsed to the floor and shivered violently. Deekin didn't waste a moment in grabbing his rapier and finishing the job while the monstrosities were at a disadvantage.

Deekin killed off three more slaadi in this manner, while Umbra took care of the rest. Surrounded by a mass of otherworldly red corpses and one gray cadaver, Deekin healed his own wounds and offered to heal Umbra's, but once again she insisted she was fine.

"If you insists, Boss," he relented, closing a cut on his arm, then turned his attention to the room at the end of the corridor. "That be where slaadi come from."

"Indeed."

"Should we goes?"

"We must."

"Deekin thoughts you say that," he sighed, trying to scrape some of the dried blood off his foot. Umbra then started off down the corridor, Deekin close behind.

The corridors had been sallow with the unsteady light of the few torches that still burned. The broad room at the hall's end, however, was plunged into darkness. Deekin's nostrils wrinkled at the mixed stench of fresh rot and aged mildew; on the floor, he could discern a few human bodies splayed in uncomfortable positions. Pressed against the sides of the room were rows of slaadi, the colors of their pebbly hides lost to the dark. The monsters stayed still as stone.

At the room's back, an old, intricately carved bronze chair seated a feminine humanoid figure in a form-fitting leather pantsuit, her ankles crossed and head downturned. In her right hand, she clutched a severed human head, its mouth still twisted in a silent scream as its wounded bottom dripped blood. As Deekin and Umbra approached, the mysterious woman turned her hooded face up with a sinister smile. Dropping the head in a puddle of its own blood, she got up out of her chair and crossed the room to meet them.

"Ah, you have come to join me at last," the woman greeted Umbra in a seething voice that sent shivers up Deekin's spine. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever show up." She cast Deekin a downward glance. "And what's this creature you bring? A...a kobold? It...it _is_ a kobold..."

"Deekin is bard to the great and mighty hero who will slay you!" Deekin snapped at the malicious figure, then added softly, "Umm...but Deekin mostly here for posterity reasons..."

The cowled woman looked back at Umbra. "Well, now that you're here, let us get down to business, shall we?" Sweeping her arms, the woman chanted some extravagant arcane phrases. Suddenly, everything around Deekin grew very bright...

When Deekin could see again, he was no longer in the gloom of the excavated ruins. Rather, he was standing in hot sand under the even hotter Anauroch sun. For a moment, he thought he had dreamt all that horror up and was back with the caravan--and then he saw it.

Black spires, rising out of the sand and looming starkly against the bright sky. Twinkling mosaic windows, glaring in the fierce sunlight. Delicate terraces, steeply sloping roofs, triangular bricks, ridiculously arched doorways and decorated doors within them, enclosed skywalks, and abstract stone likenesses of grim demons and revered saints perched side by side on the eaves. The splendor and enormity of it all struck Deekin with awe, and he wondered if he should bow. Without a doubt, this was what remained of one of the great empires of ancient Netheril.

"It is...Undrentide," Umbra said, standing solemn.

"Yesss," the woman hissed in admiration, her eyes trained on the complex structure. "It is _glorious_, isn't it?" Deekin nodded fervently, though she wasn't addressing him, and turned to face her. In this light, he could make out her gaunt gray face more clearly, though the hood hid most of it. Her hair coiled in odd-textured dreadlocks about her jutting cheekbones, a shade darker than her skin. The hood itself was mismatched with the rest of the outfit, plain gray cloth as opposed to the tight brown leather of the suit, and bound to the suit with stitches that pulsed with magic. The hood resembled Umbra's, actually.

"So you know its name?" the woman grinned at Umbra, after a moment more of fawning over Undrentide. "Tell me...do _you_ have a name?"

"This one is called Umbra Lumina," Umbra responded coolly. "This one would ask your name, in turn, for it seems you presume to know this one."

"I am Heurodis," the woman smiled, "and I do. You are a servant escaped its master, correct?"

"How...how do you know that?" Umbra cried; her face showed nothing, but her tone was confused. Deekin was confused, as well, guessing that her master was the dwarf. But...Umbra was his apprentice, not his servant. Wasn't she? The thought of his Boss, a servant, brought up conflicting emotions in Deekin. Troubled, he cast them aside and listened.

"Oh, your master told me all about you," Heurodis answered. "Bemoaned you, actually, and complained that he couldn't trust anyone, anymore. Strange...he seemed to trust me enough to tell me his life story."

Deekin was getting too sun-cooked to listen clearly, and instead examined the two mysterious, hooded female figures before him. Female and cowled alike as they were, in every other respect they differed.

"He is prone to such," Umbra sighed. "This one has heard his tale far too many times."

The kobold studied the hooded ones' similarites and differences closely. They were like twins--no, mirror images, but reflecting differently. It reminded him of something...

"So I imagine," Heurodis said dryly. "He mentioned that he gave you a robe enchanted by Vecna himself before he sent you off. I see that you wear it now."

What did that remind him of? It was on the tip of Deekin's tongue...

"Would you care to take it off? The hood, that is," Heurodis quested slyly.

Deekin realized it was Daschnaya's fortune he was remembering.

"My hood shall stay where it is," Umbra stated firmly.

_"Beware the unlike mirror's gaze..."_

"Secretive, are we?" Heurodis chuckled. "Or ashamed? Ah, well, no matter. I wear such a hood myself. If you will not remove yours, allow me to remove mine..."

Beware her gaze! Deekin thought frantically as Heurodis's hands moved to pull back the hood.

"Boss, don't let--" Deekin started.

Too late. With a small burst of magic, the hood fell back and Heurodis's semi-normal face reverted to a malformed, hideous compilation of scaly flesh, two reptilian eyes glowing out of it vehemently as her fanged jaws unhinged with strings of saliva, sunken nostrils flaring to breathe and livid snakes writhing in a ring around her face. Heurodis was a medusa, and without the hood to obstruct it her stone gaze changed Deekin and Umbra to rock in one hope-shattering instant.

Heurodis emitted a pleased hiss and snaked a hand into Umbra's pack, withdrawing the mythal, which refracted the late sun's rays into a small, faint rainbow. Heurodis inspected the crystalline sphere with a happy look on her terrible face.

"Your master told me he had sent you to the dwarf's to retrieve the mythal, so he could make Undrentide fly again," Heurodis remarked to the statue that had been Umbra. "But you never returned. Don't worry, though...I have the mythal now! Now Undrentide shall rise again! And all the power of ancient Netheril that lies within it is mine! All of Faerun shall hear my name and fear me!" Heurodis laughed ecstatically, turning and walking away with the mythal in hand, set on entering Undrentide's shell and reviving it.

Though a statue, Deekin was still conscious. As he watched Heurodis go, taking all his hopes and dreams with her, he thought that there couldn't have a more appropriate time to sing the Doom Song. If only he could move his mouth...

(Don't worry, this story is far from over. Keep an eye out for lucky Chapter Thirteen!)


	13. Secrets

(A/N: Thank-you to everyone who reviewed! This chapter isn't as long as it could be, though it certainly took long enough to summon the energy to create. For that, I am profusely sorry! PROFUSELY! Most of this was just written today...never again shall I underestimate the power of notebooks!

Disclaimers: The game "Neverwinter Nights" belongs to Bioware, Atari, Floodgate Entertainment, Wizards of the Coast and other people.)

**Dependence I: Heartsinger**

Chapter Thirteen

The experience of being a stone statue brought back a wave of nostalgia for Deekin. He remembered his younger years in the Nether Mountains, when he had first moved into Tymofarrar's den. Living with the dragon kept the kobold constantly on edge, hyper and jittery. One day, he couldn't stop running around the cave, no matter how hard he tried or how many times a dizzied Tymofarrar threatened his life. At last, the dragon lost his patience and cast a paralyzing spell on poor little Deekin, who was then used as a toothpick. The effect eventually wore off, but Deekin heeded the dragon's advice carefully from then on.

Being turned to actual stone was different from being merely paralyzed, of course. Even if he hadn't been able to move when he was paralyzed, he'd still been able to feel his heart beating, his lungs taking in air, the blood running through his veins, all that would assure him he was still alive. Now, there was none of that--he was cold stone, plain and simple, but somehow still alive and seeing. And, he would most likely remain that way for a while yet; he had read many a tale of the stone-turned victims of medusae, who had stayed in their unlucky state for millenia, so weatherworn by the time they were returned to flesh that their features had been mostly rubbed away. This frightened Deekin, especially because his tail had started itching. After just a few minutes, he thought he would go insane.

Suddenly, a consoling warmth surged over him. Flexing his fingers, Deekin became aware that he _could_ flex his fingers and did it again. His heart beat, his lungs breathed, his blood flowed. No longer stone, he was once more flesh and blood. And there was Umbra, standing silently over him, her gangly black hand glowing faintly with the leftover magics of a Stone-to-Flesh spell.

"Ooh, thank-you thank-you THANK-YOU!" Deekin gushed, flinging himself to the sand in an overdramatic bow.

"You are certainly welcome," Umbra responded as Deekin picked himself up.

"Deekin thought he be statue forever," the kobold moaned. "Deekin gots this little itch under tail that just drive Deekin crazy! Deekin thought his head explode!" So saying, he scratched the itch away. Umbra said nothing, but he thought he saw her shoulders shudder with quiet laughter. It could have been his imagination, though.

Something occurred to him.

"Boss," he inquired, "how you gets all, umm, not-stone?"

"This one was not affected by the medusa's gaze," she replied.

"So...Boss be standing still...but whole time not be stone?" he puzzled slowly.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"This one did not wish to provoke the medusa," she told him, looking at Undrentide. "We have already seen what she is capable of--summoning multitudes of fiends, teleporting at will, changing individuals to stone...Best to play stone, then, lest she do more." Umbra's tone saddened, though her face was unmoving. "This one vowed to protect you, Deekin. This one failed to do that...but shall not fail again." She started walking toward the ancient structure. "This one knows something of Undrentide's design from m'lord...that should prove an advantage."

Deekin stood there, watching his Boss walk away. He knew he should follow, but for a moment he just wanted to stop and think about all that had happened lately. Finally, he raced to catch up.

"Deekin gots question," he said as he scurried along behind Umbra. "Snake lady turns Deekin into statue just by lookings at him, yes? What we do if we meets her again?" He was hopeful that Umbra would know; he really didn't want to be a stone statue again, and next time Umbra might not be so lucky as to escape the effects of the medusa's gaze.

"Close your eyes and this one shall kill her as quickly as possible," Umbra responded.

"Okay, that sounds like good plan," Deekin nodded as they neared Undrentide. "Deekin likes good plans."

Heurodis had shoved open a half-buried stone door and entered Undrentide through it. Now, Umbra and Deekin slipped through the door slat the medusa had left. Hopping to the floor, Deekin looked around.

"Wow," he muttered. "It really _be_ city."

There were fountains decorated by stylized statues of cherubs and merfolk, whose mouths still spouted clear water through some magic; there were marble benches with legs carved like lion paws; ornate marble pillars suspended beautifully frescoed ceilings, and ivy shoots sprawled along the rosy marble walls, creeping around the thin iron bars of old portcullises. Peeking through one of the many portcullises, Deekin could see an entire home, with rotten, overstuffed velvet furniture, decrepit bookcases loaded with disintegrating books, brittle wooden desks, drawers and tables, and discarded children's toys. Only the desert's arid atmosphere had kept it all from entirely rotting away.

Outside the portcullised homes were city squares, immense rooms with colorful brick patterns on the floors. There were even trees sprouting out of circular holes in the ground, cracking apart the brick floor with overgrown roots that sucked nutrients out of the ever-fertile arcane soil, having grown from measly saplings to leafy giants in the millenia since Undrentide had fallen. There was more, of course, and Deekin wrote manically fast in an attempt to get it all down for his epic tale. Undrentide had once been a great metropolis, and its grandeur was stunning even now.

But, all this was coated with thick layers of dust and grime. Spiderwebs fettered the balconies high up in the walls, and draped like gray sheets over the abstract statues that lined the halls. Saddest of all were the broken skeletons on the floors, morbid reminders of Undrentide's expired legacy.

Deekin's wrist throbbed after writing so much so quickly, and he considered learning shorthand. In the end, he could only hope his best descriptions were good enough, letting his hands rest as he turned his attention to the mission at hand.

They had wandered through three large rooms and several high-ceilinged hallways patterned with muted blues, greens, golds and mauves, when Umbra, who had been following Heurodis's footprints--apparent enough on the dusty floor--came to a stop. In front of them was another high wall, characteristic of the city by now, inlaid with five broad portcullises. Heurodis's footprints led off through the third. Deekin started ahead, but Umbra set an elongate hand upon his shoulder to stop him. Holding a long finger to her face to indicate a need for silence, she strode a good way back down the hallway before halting again. Deekin traipsed after, then looked up at her expectantly.

"Heurodis has gone into the Temple of Winds," Umbra stated.

"The Temple of Winds?" Deekin repeated blankly.

"Yes. The Temple of Winds is the control room of Undrentide, if you will," the cowled one explained. "Within it, at its top, Heurodis will find the depressed pedestal to set the mythal upon--according to m'lord, and m'lord never lies about Undrentide. Heurodis will perform the necessary rituals, binding herself with Undrentide to resurrect it, take it to the skies once more, and thereby gain a great power that is dire in the hands of one such as her."

"So we goes and stop her, right Boss?" Deekin persisted.

"It is not so easy as that, my friend," Umbra replied, gladdening Deekin by referring to him as her friend. "The Temple is sealed off from the rest of the city. The wizards of Undrentide were able to teleport into it at will, and the fell medusa will have done the same. We, however, have not that luxury."

"So how does we gets in?" Deekin asked, stomach sinking.

"At the Temple's base is an Ark--" Umbra started.

"Like a ship?" Deekin cut in curiously.

"No, like a sacred trunk," Umbra corrected patiently. "The Ark was constructed to hold the Three Winds, which would open the Temple. Unfortunately, the wizards of this city placed the winds far apart, assuming they could teleport to reach them at any time. It will take some time for us to recover the winds...but then, it will take some time for Heurodis to revive Undrentide. We should have enough time."

"Deekin not understands," Deekin puzzled. "How you collects wind? Wind not be something you touches." He wrinkled his nose, remembering Tymofarrar's fondness for eating fish and the bad gas that followed. "Smells, maybe, but not touches."

"Netherese magic is very powerful, often rendering the impossible possible," Umbra answered.

"Oh." Deekin scratched his head. "But...why there not be four winds? All story books that Old Master has always says there be four winds."

"Are you still speaking of the sort you smell?" Umbra asked ponderously. Deekin shook his head.

"Nope. When you lives with Old Master as long as Deekin did, you know good and well that there only one kind of _that_ wind." He paused thoughtfully. "So we gots to collect three winds to gets into tower?"

"That is correct."

"Okies." His wrists felt better now, so he got out his notebook and quill and wrote, speaking aloud as he did. "'The final path for our heroes had suddenly become clear! They were to collect the wind itself (and not the stinky kind), in order to face their foe! How could such a feat be accomplished? The faithful kobold could only wonder and be confident that Boss would figure out a way!'"

"Indeed." Umbra began walking again, turning down an adjoining corridor. Deekin finished his writing, put his writing supplies away, and smiled at Umbra as he walked along after her. Creeping though her movements were, they were smooth and agile. Combined with the dark, hooded robe that flowed over her and across the dusty floors, this gave Umbra a wraithlike appearance. Perhaps she was an apparition, a ghost in one complex, fantastical dream the kobold was having. Well, if it was a dream, he hoped it never had to end--even if it did get rather nightmarish at times.

They ambled along, taking turns where the halls intersected, for a while. Deekin ran hand along a grimy wall, remembering their journey into the stinger tunnels, among other things. Finally, he ventured, "Boss?"

"Yes, Deekin?"

"Who be your Boss?"

He didn't know if Umbra had started to reply or was simply going to ignore his question--though the latter seemed unlike Umbra, so he suspected the former--but at any rate, they were cut off then and there when a giant spider leapt down before them, a thin thread of silk trailing from its abdomen and up to a webbed ceiling. It raised its pedipalps menacingly and spread apart its jaws, the fangs at their tips dribbling green venom. The creature was green itself, with black-and-yellow designs doodling its wolf-sized body.

Umbra wasn't the least bit intimidated; in one fluid movement, she removed a luminous sword from its scabbard, sliced the swollen arachnid in two with a spray of green innards, and just as quickly sheathed the sword again.

"M'lord did not jest when he said Undrentide's spiders were huge," Umbra remarked dryly, gazing down at the spider's halved, twitching corpse, then advised Deekin, "Tread with caution. Where there is one, there are apt to be many." She continued on and went off down an adjacent passage then. Deekin waited until she was out of sight, then took off his pack, extracted his writing equipment and several napkins, and shoved gobs of green spider guts into it, cramming some in his mouth as well. He was almost out of jerky, and didn't think they'd be running into any restaurants, so decided to stock up on what food there was. Besides, small spiders always proved a tasty treat...he was sure a larger spider would just be more of the same.

Setting the napkins over the slimy stuff, he laid his notebook, quills and inkwells over the napkins and closed the pack. Shouldering it carefully, so as not to slosh the verdant insides around too much, he put on a burst of speed and caught up to Umbra, who didn't seem to notice he'd gone. Deekin opened his mouth to retell his question, when Umbra halted and announced, "We are here."

"What be here, Boss?" he asked, looking ahead. They were standing in front of yet another high wall, which two doors were set side by side into, Netherese words engraved above them.

"This is the Crypt Tower," she told him, walking toward the doors. "We should find one of the Three Winds here--the Dead Wind."

"Dead Wind?" Deekin muttered uneasily to himself as Umbra stepped forward and shoved the left door open. "Why it be called that?"

"You will see," she replied, going in and ushering him after.

And he did see. They had entered an expansive room, filled with rows and rows of coffins of varying qualities, depending on what wealth the corpse within had maintained in life. At some point the caretakers had run out of room and began stacking the caskets on top of each other, so some rows were anywhere from two to twenty caskets tall. The poor were always the first to be stacked, and their caskets were often made of such flimsy material that they cracked apart beneath the weight, revealing the cadaver inside and allowing to be crushed--the occasional arm, leg or even head poking out of a stack was evidence of this.

The stench of death was so heavy in the stale air that it made Deekin's lungs choke and his head swirl, so he made to rest against a sarcophagus until the effect wore off to some extent.

"This one would not advise that," Umbra warned him. "Undrentide's dead do not take kindly to being disturbed." Deekin backed away from the sarcophagus in a hurry, remembering the skeletons that had chased him through the crypt in the Silver Marches. Oh, what Deekin would give to live in a world where the dead _stayed_ dead!

They wove their way around the reposing dead's coffins, Deekin stopping occasionally to place his hands on his knees and take a short rest, to clear his head just a little. It took long enough, Deekin thought, but they finally made it to the other side of the vast room, where a broad but short flight of stairs led upward, through a tall, arched double door, each half decorated with a thin layer of wire mesh.

"What be up here?" Deekin wondered hesitantly.

"The Dead Wind," was Umbra's blatant answer.

"No, no," Deekin protested. "Deekin means--what else?"

Umbra was silent a moment.

"M'lord did not know," she said quietly, trekking up the steps. "We will find out, though." So saying, she pushed the doors inward.

(So ends Chapter Thirteen--I apologize for its brevity, but it is Chapter _Thirteen_, after all.)


	14. Death

(A/N: I'm really, really, REALLY sorry I took forever to write this, but it was a hard chapter to write because I was terrified I'd get something important all wrong. I probably did anyway. Anyway, this is the longest chapter so far...does that count for anything? I'd like to thank the few people--Guan, Coranth, and VaguelyFamiliar--who bothered to review last chapter. Please review again. And sorry if this chapter gets sappy, hopefully the morbidity compensates.

Disclaimer: I do not own Neverwinter Nights, Forgotten Realms or Dungeons & Dragons.)

Chapter Fourteen

Higher up, the air was not nearly as stagnant as that in the lower level. It did, however, carry the unmistakable scent of something burning, and a thick smoke made it difficult to breathe still.

The doors they'd entered had opened up into a small alcove. After shutting the doors tight so the previous room's death stench couldn't leak through, Deekin looked at the several short steps leading upward into the main room. He crept up the first three, then flopped down on the steps and set his nose on the last, to get a better, yet safer look at things.

The room was yet another grand scale marble affair--but in every other respect, it differed from the other rooms.

The first major difference was the fire. All over the room, licking at the precious stone floor, flames leapt as high as the ceiling's melted frescoes and chandeliers and as low as the sooty vents, with a fog of gray smoke settling down over everything. The other major differences were the strange men that walked through the fires and chanted to themselves, strangely unaffected by the hot flames. Just as quickly as he had gone up, Deekin ducked back down the steps into the alcove.

"Boss--" Deekin started to say, but stopped. Umbra was pressed up against the alcove's corner farthest from the main room, snakes of smoke partially obscuring her and the dancing firelight casting orange highlights on her robe, but not her cowled black face.

"You be okay, Boss?" Deekin asked worriedly. "You be afraid of the fire?"

There was a pause.

"My robes would combust, leaving this one bare to the light's fury," she spoke gravely. "This one can venture no further."

Deekin eyed Umbra's robe, realizing the cloth would be highly flammable. A small kobold like him might be able to dart through open spots amidst the flames and come out with only a few mild burns, but Umbra would be lit aflame the moment she stepped foot into the inferno. This concerned him, until he remembered the men striding through the flames unscathed.

"Maybe fire be illusion!" he theorized eagerly, running up the steps and stretching a hand out to the fire, then withdrawing it just as quickly and sticking a burnt finger in his mouth to soothe it.

"Neverminds," Deekin muttered crossly around the injured finger. He closed his eyes to think, though the fire's brightness burned through his eyelids. There had to be something they could do--

His thought process was interrupted when the light went out. His eyes flashed open curiously. Where the fire had been roaring vibrantly only a moment ago, there was now only unpenetrable darkness, flowing in a stream of magic out of Umbra's palm. Before he could utter a surprised remark, Umbra grabbed him and dashed up the steps. Even the kobold couldn't see in this unnatural darkness, so thick he could feel it curdling on his scales; but Umbra navigated flawlessly, running unhaltingly through the darkened room and twisting around unseen obstacles. Deekin could only allow himself to be carried along and watch--as much as he could--in stunned silence.

They must have made it to the other side of the room, because Umbra finally stopped.

Upon being set down, Deekin looked up at Umbra--or at least, the spot where he estimated Umbra was, as she was impossible to discern in this pitch blackness--in awe.

"Wow, Boss," he commented. "Why you not does that sooner?"

"This one is reluctant to cast such spells," came the dreary reply. Deekin started to ask why, but was cut off as the fire sprang back up with a vengeance. Temporarily blinded by the sudden brightness, Deekin stumbled and fell back against a wall, rubbing his eyes furiously. Gradually, the stars and odd splotches of color faded out of his vision, and he was able to see that they were in another low alcove on the opposite side of the room. The door at the bottom was plain and wrought of rusted metal. Desperate to escape, Umbra grasped the handle and strived to wrench it open, to no avail. The door was stuck fast.

Umbra tried thrice more, but the door was adamant. She stepped back, mumbled a spell and flexed her lengthy fingers in rhythm. In response to her spell, purple rays of light twirled around the door's handle, which fidgeted like a tadpole on land; yet still the door refused to open. As Umbra prepared to cast the spell again, Deekin looked behind them worriedly. The strange men were walking in patterns so briskly they appeared to be dancing, and the flames about them burned so angrily that at times he had to avert his eyes. But Deekin could make out something else amid the flames--a lever.

"Wait, Boss! Deekin gots an idea!" he cried, darting into the inferno.

"Deekin..." But Umbra could only stand where she was.

Deekin cast an ice spell ahead of him. The stream of ice melted into water, which doused the fire and cleared a path for Deekin, who scurried anxiously across the burnt floor. Shielding his eyes with one hand, he could see that the lever was a good five yards away yet.

One of the strange men wandered in Deekin's path then. The kobold shrieked in surprise and staggered back, getting a fuller view of the odd man. The man was well-muscled and had reddish skin--reminiscent of a roasted turkey--which was patterned by deep, fresh wounds. The empty cuts glistened bloodred in the firelight, but other cuts had been filled in with gold, to match the man's golden collar and loincloth. When Deekin looked closely, he could see that the man was transparent, like a ghost; he could also see that the man was giving off flames. The other men were all identical to the first, Deekin saw, and all were the source of the flame which filled the room.

The man's eyes were black pits in his face, darkness contrasting the light of the room. The man opened his mouth, adding a third dark pit to his face, and moaned, "Woe!" No sooner had he done so, than the other burning men started in.

"Sorrow!"

"Loss!"

"Wrath!"

"Murder!"

Confused by this odd chant, Deekin took a step back, only to be burned by the second burning man that had sneaked up behind him. He, too, opened his pit of a mouth and said grievously, "Theft!"

"Folly!"

"Apathy!"

"Hubris!"

"Failure!"

Deekin rubbed his back and winced at the pain, but focused on the weird chanting. It reminded him of a story he'd read once.

"Lust!"

In the tale, a farmer had an apple tree. The farmer was concerned, because every night three large black cats would circle around the tree and yowl. They hadn't yowled as normal cats do, however; the cats had bemoaned sins, weaknesses and faults, just as the burning men did now.

"Violence!"

"Anger!"

"Fear!"

It was discovered that a man who had lived a sinful life was buried beneath the apple tree. His remains were exhumed, blessed by a local priest, and buried in a cemetery. The man's soul was then able to rest in peace, and the black cats were never seen again.

"Ambition!"

"Adultery!"

"Jealousy!"

Clearly, the burning men burned for those who had been buried in the crypt on the floor below this one. They named that which had concerned the corpses in life; it was probably the closest things their souls could get to eternal rest. Deekin was no priest, though...all he could think to do was--

"Forgiveness!" Deekin shouted. The burning men fell deathly silent. The eerie quiet made the kobold shiver and wonder if he'd said the right thing.

"Forgiveness," one of the burning men said suddenly.

"Forgiveness," another repeated.

"Forgiveness."

"Forgiveness."

"Forgiveness."

A chorus of "forgiveness" rose up around the room. The fires flickered dangerously, then snuffed out of their own accord.

"**FORGIVENESS!**"the burning men roared together; and then, like the flames, they were gone.

Deekin breathed in sharply. He wasn't entirely sure of what had just happened here, but he was certain of one thing: this was only a sample of what Undrentide had in store for him.

He then gazed around the room. Now that the flames and the burning men were gone, the place was plunged into gloom. The floors and walls were pitted and scorched, and he could now see the numerous charred skeletons that littered the place, human and rat alike. He did his best to ignore the depressing sight and instead rushed over to the lever. He pulled down on it with all his might; reluctantly, it gave way, but vengefully sent Deekin sprawling to the ground with it. It did its job, though, and the door in front of Umbra creaked open. Deekin picked himself up, brushed himself off, and skittered over to Umbra and the newly opened door.

"That was very brave and intelligent of you, Deekin," the cowled figure commended him when he got there.

"Thanks, Boss," he grinned up at her. "You inspires Deekin."

Umbra said nothing as she walked through the doorway, but they both knew that she was very pleased.

----

Yet another low alcove was adjoined to this one. Before they could ascend into the next main room, they heard a lot of creaking and clinking noises.

"What be that?" Deekin wondered.

"Let us see," replied Umbra, walking up the steps. Deekin nodded and trailed closely after.

Deekin didn't know whether to recoil in digust or marvel in wonder at the sight before them. The room was filled with hundreds of tall, broad gates, each one constructed out of a network of human bones, with sharpened femurs set along the top like spikes, adorned with the occasional human skull. Each gate was fastened to another, forming a series of closed pens. More amazing yet, the gates were far from stationary, for some Netherese enchantment kept them constantly moving, each gate separating itself from one and interlocking with another, so the sea of pens before them was transformed into an ever-shifting maze. Of course, this was what had produced the creaking and clinking sounds.

Deekin noticed that this constant rearrangement resulted in some pens missing a wall, allowing passage into its neighboring pen. He posed an idea to Umbra, saying, "Deekin think we just gots to stay where we be 'til gates open, then runs through, then waits 'til those gates open and runs through, again and again, 'til we gets out."

"Or, we could simply do this," suggested Umbra, drawing her luminous swords and smashing through a brittle bone gate, then stepping over the crushed remains.

"Umm, yep, that always be option, Boss..." Deekin submitted, following her. Umbra continued through the maze in this destructive manner, going in a straight line so as not to get lost. Each towering gate made a grand spectacle of its demise, raining down morbid shards of bone upon its shattering. This in itself was enough to send shivers up anyone's spine, but Deekin was especially jumpy after a skull toppled off one gate and landed on his shoulder. Fortunately, it wasn't long before they'd crossed the grand room to the opposite wall, where a squat set of stairs led up into the next room.

"You thinks the Dead Wind be up there, Boss?" the kobold asked.

"This one would hope so," she responded. Deekin started to ask something else, but stopped. Slowly turning around, his eyes grew very wide.

"Umm, Boss?"

"What is it--" Umbra turned around and saw. "Oh."

The gates Umbra had destroyed didn't take very kindly to their broken state. With a bone-white glow, the shattered pieces tumbled across the floor toward each other, forming in one great pile and fusing together. Out of the mass rose a humongous, misshapen skeletal figure--a bone golem.

"How fortunate," Umbra commented. Deekin assumed that was sarcasm, until Umbra murmured an incantation and brought an immense pillar of fire down upon the bone-borne monstrosity, so all that was left of it was a heap of charcoal. It wouldn't be recollecting itself any time soon.

"Come along, if you will," Umbra commanded as she swept up the steps, leaning the door open and entering the next room. Silent with awe, Deekin obeyed.

---

The room they entered was about the same size as the rooms that had preceded it, but its content filled it and made it seem smaller than it truly was. The room was lined with thick, carved marble pillars, with sweet-smelling, flowering vines twirling delicately up the bases and aligning themselves in the marble grooves. Sprouting out of the marble floor through cracked, circular gaps were overgrown trees, their crowns green and lush. Three tall open windows at the back bathed the room in warm desert sunlight, and the air was fresh and clean. Admiring the gorgeous sight, Deekin snatched his writing supplies out of his pack and started to write of it, then realized he hadn't written anything of the rest of the Crypt Tower and started recording it as hurriedly as he could.

"Deekin, set your pen aside," Umbra ordered. With a reluctant sigh, Deekin stored the quill and notebook in his pack again, depressed that he'd hardly written anything. A whirring sound caught his ear then; looking up, he saw that the room's foliage was fluttering like mad, losing leaves, petals and bits of bark to a whirlwind gathering in the center of the room. The whirlwind grew up until it touched the ceiling, gathering enough debris that it was visible, and emitted a windy growl as though alive.

"Umm...that be the Dead Wind, Boss?" the kobold questioned.

"Presumably, yes," Umbra answered.

"That be hard to believe," he noted, gazing about studiously. "Everything look so alive..."

No sooner had he said that, than the spinning wind picked up velocity. Sucking in all the leaves and petals and stripping the trees of a good deal of bark, the wind left the plants looking haggard and near death if not upon it. The Dead Wind produced a thick black cloud, which tumbled across the ceiling and down the walls, concealing the windows and smothering the sunlight before it could leak in. In an instant, the room went from appearing as a small paradise to looking like the tomb it was.

"Scratch that," Deekin muttered, correcting himself. "Everything look so dead..."

The stones which made up the floor rumbled and popped out of their fittings to reveal the half-buried corpses beneath, which had been so well-preserved in the arcane soil that bits of flesh and organs clung to their bones yet. The wind stretched out invisible tendrils to them, lifting them up from their graves like puppets and forcing them to their rotten feet. Gaining semi-life, the cadavers groaned and staggered toward Umbra and Deekin. One animated carcas stretched a worm-eaten hand out to the kobold; Umbra sliced it off with a sickening splash of fetid juice. Bringing both swords down upon the thing's head and spattering more fluid, Umbra tossed the mutilated body aside and moved on to the next two undead, making short work of them as well.

Deciding that he would work best from a distance, Deekin ducked behind a pillar, pulled his crossbow out from under the drying spider guts in his pack and loaded it, then fired some shots at the zombies. They did well; the zombies were quickly annihilated, and Umbra approached the wind with surety. Deekin restored his crossbow to its proper place and started forth, when a decomposing hand clamped onto his face. The foul, disintegrating flesh of the hand wormed its way into his mouth and nostrils; legs quaking, Deekin could feel his eyes watering and bile gathering in the back of his throat. If he screamed, the surging vomit would catch in his lungs and choke him.

The zombie to which the hand was attached dragged him into a small room adjoining the first, squeezing Deekin's neck and depriving the kobold of oxygen. His head swam, but he could see Umbra striking at the wind with bolts of black lightning. The Dead Wind shrieked, a high-pitched noise that mimicked the sound of wind whistling through treetops; then the zombie crushed the kobold's windpipe unbearably hard. Dazzling red flashed before his eyes, and then it all went black.

The black oblivion faded softly into the gray stone of a small cave. Deekin recognized this cave...he'd grown up in it. He heard his mother's voice, even now.

"Bad Keewa! You no eats those mushrooms, yip!" his mother snapped, swatting his younger sister's snout. Keewa dropped the mushrooms and grumbled indignantly. Deekin remembered this...this was an old memory of his. He supposed his life was flashing before him.

"Those mushrooms be very bad, yip yip!" his mother had scolded, smooshing the mushrooms beneath her toes and gesturing to her son. "You sees Deekin? He no eats bad mushrooms, yip. Be more like Deekin."

"Yip, little children all does bad!" complained a creaky old voice, his grandmother's. Sitting on the floor to rest her weary bones, the leathery old green kobold went on. "Just other day, Deekin steals feather from Chief Buzko's bed, you remembers?"

"That be Keewa what does that, Momma, yip," Deekin's mother had reminded. Her eyes had been brown and caring, a trait that had carried on to Deekin, though her scales were ash-gray like Keewa's.

"Grr, you is saying me be too old?" his grandmother had growled. "You is saying me forgets much, you is?"

"No, Momma, me is--" his mother started.

"Me remembers lots!" Deekin's grandmother insisted stubbornly. "Me remember back before any of you alive, even, yip. Me remembers time humans come in here, and great dragon Tymofarrar eats them like they is ants."

"Momma--" his mother tried again.

"Ha! You not ever even eats ants, does you?" his grandmother cut in rudely. "Ants all be gone now, yip, long gone. Me eats them though, yip, back before ants is gone, and they tastes sweet like honey."

"Yip, what be honey?" a younger Deekin had wondered. The grown Deekin saw himself standing there with a questing look on his face, and felt saddened, seeing all these old faces again. He tried to speak out to them, but no one noticed him, for it was only a memory.

"See? Little Deekin is not ever even tasting honey!" his grandmother bemoaned. "So sad, so sad, we not gots honey anywheres now, yip. We used to, but then lousy, no-good humans goes and kills all the yummy ants and bees. Great Tymofarrar squashes them real good for that, yip yip, serves them right too."

"How that happens, Grandma?" the young Deekin queried.

"Well," his grandmother began, "it all be starting one night after we gets big storm, so snow be blown all over front of caves, and kobolds who lives up there be freezing, but me is okay, because me lives in back caves, yip. Remember, this be long time ago, before your Momma remembers even..." And so she launched into her tale, and both the younger Deekin and the present Deekin listened eagerly. His Grandma had always loved telling tales, and Deekin had always loved listening to them, though the truth to them was often doubtful.

True or no, however, Deekin's grandma had always made it clear that Tymofarrar was a great dragon and their protector.

"These young kobolds appreciates his greatness less and less," she'd always grumbled. "They not understands that he be our Boss, and he be great hero. Yip, you promises your Grandma you never forgets his greatness like those no-good kobolds does!"

"Deekin promises, Grandma," he always vowed.

"Good," she'd smile. "You be good grandson." And then she'd pat him on the head and feed him a crunchy insect--though not as good as ants, she always said.

This memory shifted to another, now. Deekin was older, and had moved out into a section of the cave of his own--it was small, and humble, but it was his. His grandma lived with him--his mother and sister having long ago been slain by invading orcs--but the old kobold slept most of the day away on a burlap mat. It was the only bedding, so Deekin slept on the hard, clammy floor. But, such was the life of a kobold...one learned to adjust, and he was otherwise happy. Hungry, though; though he could cast well the few spells he knew, he was a generally poor hunter, and seldom brought back enough food for the both of them, usually giving most of it to his grandmother and starving the day away. For this, the other kobolds taunted and ridiculed him, but Deekin kept himself occupied by weaving stories, and telling them to his grandmother on the rare occasions she was awake.

One day, one fateful day, Tymofarrar rose from the depths of his cave. He hadn't in three generations, so it was a great event for the kobold society, and many scurried about tidying their homes and putting on their best rags and looted gems. Of course, the dragon could have cared less, and wore a significantly bored look when he announced that he was going to personally train a magically gifted kobold to be a great sorcerer, and the kobold's next chieftain. Then, Tymofarrar looked around the crowd, spotted little Deekin, and said, "You." And so Deekin, to whom it had all felt like an amazing dream, was chosen to be personally trained by the Boss. His grandmother was happy for him, though she was barely awake enough to nod; the other kobolds promised to care for her while he was gone, and so he was off.

Life with Tymofarrar was not at all what Deekin had been expecting. The dragon had a series of rigorous tests set up for him, which included pushing blocks up icy hills, drinking poison in gradually larger doses--to make him immune to the stuff, Tymofarrar said, weaing a sadistic smile as the kobold groaned and held his aching stomach--starting fires with magic, and stealing pie from local human villages. Deekin did as he was told, but honestly preferred reading the many books the dragon had lying about his den, poring over the pictures and stories of many places, until it was time to work at another test.

Then the day came when the kobold caves were once again raided by orcs. Placing much more stock in Deekin's abilities than the kobold did himself, Tymofarrar sent Deekin up into the higher caves to battle the orcs with his "great arcane prowess". Sadly, Deekin hadn't been a very good student , and when faced against the orcs, armed with nothing but a few spells he had failed to improve upon, he was plainly outmatched. Rather than fight bravely to the death, he trembled and hid in a barrel.

It was there that Tymofarrar found him. "Serves you right for not studying," the dragon had scolded mildly with a chuckle. The orcs had slaughtered most of the kobolds, and needless to say, the few left were furious and screamed that Deekin must die. But Tymofarrar said no; Deekin was smart to hide, but but not very brave, said he. Deekin wasn't a good chief, but he was very funny. Tymofarrar let Deekin stay with him, so long as he kept the dragon amused. That was how Deekin became a bard.

It was a good life, at first; there were books to read, and no kobolds to taunt him, though he missed his grandmother and worried that she had been decimated by the orcs. Of course, he had to keep Tymofarrar entertained, teaching himself many stories and songs to do so. This was far from easy, such as the occasion when Tymofarrar had insomnia and Deekin had to lull him to sleep by discussing the mating habits of orcs with him for two days straight until the dragon fell asleep, and Deekin just collapsed from exhaustion. It was a tiring, disturbing two days, and to this day he wasn't sure why Tymofarrar had wanted to discuss that of all things.

How many decades had he lived like that? It was impossible to keep track of time. It was better and longer than the average kobold life, he supposed, though he could have done without the abuse, threats, and big, smelly noises from his draconic master. But, he heeded his grandmother's long-ago words, and respected Tymofarrar as the great Boss.

And now, Deekin remembered the raid on Hilltop, the gnolls, the crypt, the icy cold and the gripping fear, and the broken tower statue. And he remembered Umbra...Umbra...

Traveling across the desert, into the ruins, writing her epic tale. He remembered everything about her, about how she had saved him time and again, a beacon of hopeful light in that darkened time. Besides that, he remembered how much he had enjoyed being with her, hero or no. Now, everything turned black; was he really dying? Dead? But he couldn't be...

"Deekin." That was Umbra's voice, morose and mourning. "Please, Deekin, do not die. This one needs you..."

He couldn't die now, not when he had an exciting adventure to go on, an epic tale to complete, and an intrepid hero to travel with! Determined, he made the darkness fall away and opened his eyes. There was Umbra standing over him, her black face cowled and expressionless. As he came to, he realized that she was standing over him after all; she had his head rested in her lap.

"Boss?" he quested weakly, somewhat gagging up the bile that had clogged his throat, then swallowing it.

"Deekin, you live!" Umbra cried, her voice bounding with joy and compensating for her unmoving face. She stroked his face gently, as though to ascertain he was really there.

"Yep, Deekin be alive, Boss," he smiled, sitting up slowly. "Deekin gots to finish your epic tale, after alls." Umbra was still a moment; then she grabbed him and hugged him tight.

"Please...do not leave this one again..." she begged. "You do not realize how much this one needs you."

"You...needs Deekin, Boss?" He was surprised, but pleasantly so; smiling widely, he returned the hug.

---

Umbra had defeated the Dead Wind while Deekin was unconscious. Upon its defeat, the Wind imploded into a glowing white orb, which Umbra showed to Deekin now. It was after that she had gone looking for Deekin and found him in his near-death state, and attempted to heal his wounds. Still, he would not awaken. Deekin knew the rest.

Deekin didn't have much of an appetite after the zombie incident, but he quenched his thirst with a swig from his canteen. His throat still ached, but he'd felt worse pain. Deekin wrinkled his nose--they hadn't left the Dead Wind's hall yet, and the dead zombies on the floor smelled awful. Well, technically, they'd been dead while they were moving, so "dead zombie" would be redundant...but, oh well.

Deekin looked silently at Umbra, who simply stood and watched him. At last, he ventured to remind her, "Boss, you never tells Deekin who your Boss be."

"No...this one did not. This one suspects we shall be meeting with m'lord soon enough."

A chill went up Deekin's spine. "What Boss means by that?"

"M'lord is obsessed with Undrentide," she replied. "If we are seeking the Winds, it seems inevitable that we should cross paths."

"Oh..."

"Yet, there is something this one has been meaning to tell you," she continued reluctantly.

"That be...?" Deekin persisted.

"This one fears she is not a hero as you make her out to be," she responded. "This one was sent to Drogan's by m'lord to steal the mythal. But, this one failed, for the mythal was encased in the tower statue, and not even Drogan knew it was there." A pause. "This one should have returned to m'lord and informed him. But Drogan was kind, and accepted this one as a pupil..." Another pause. "This one did not wish to return. This one wished to remain free. So she did." She paused yet again. "Then you came along, mythal in hand. This one was saddened, that she would have to return. But then Drogan arranged for us to travel across the Anauroch, and this one did. This one cannot explain it, but...when she found you had followed her, this one was instilled with sudden hope."

"Really, Boss?"

"Really." There was fondness in her voice, which became apologetic. "Deekin, this one is no hero. This one is sorry--"

"For what?" Deekin cut in. "You still be great hero! Many great heroes be slaves that escapes their evil masters. Besides," he added, "Deekin be in same boat, only worse. Old Boss sends Deekin to Drogan's to steal mythal, too, remembers? Deekin be coward, helps hurts people. Boss not does that. And then Deekin never goes back to his master, either. Boss helps Deekin, and Deekin is grateful for that. You sees, Boss? You be great, great hero!"

Umbra was silent. Finally, she conceded. "This one...supposes you are right. Thank-you, Deekin."

"Anytime, Boss," he grinned. "We ready to finds next Wind, maybe?"

"If you are."  
  
"Deekin be."

"Then we shall be off." And so they were.

(That was Chapter Fourteen! Sorry it took so long. Please review.)


	15. Wisdom

(A/N: True, I'm not churning out the chapters like I used to...but I like to think these chapters are of better quality than the old ones. It makes me feel better about myself when I make excuses like that. Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter: Coranth, Zovesta, Guan, ShadowLark, snackfriend101, the colonels chicken, Lissette, and VaguelyFamiliar. You guys are awesome! I'm glad you don't mind a Deekin/PC romance, either, since it's the main reason I wrote this story in the first place.

Disclaimer: I really DON'T own Neverwinter Nights, Dungeons & Dragons, or Forgotten Realms. I probably don't own Forbidden Realms, either, seeing as how I say I don't.)

* * *

Chapter Fifteen

Deekin completed the last sentence and closed his notebook with a relieved sigh.

"Finally!" he exclaimed. "Deekin finishes writing abouts Boss's adventures in the Crypt Tower! He remembers to adds part where they meets evil snake lady, too...Deekin just realizes he not writes that down." They had left the Crypt Tower some time ago, and were now wandering Undrentide's dusty, weaving halls in search of the next Wind.

"A wondrous thing indeed," Umbra commended, striding along slowly enough that Deekin could stay nearer her side.

"Yip!" Deekin realized his mistake and corrected himself, "Yep." His chin itched, so he scratched it, but was instantly aware it gave him the impression of looking thoughtful, so he thought up something to say. "Boss, how come you talks different than when we first meets?"

"Does this one?" Umbra paused. "Oh, this one knows what you mean. When this one was Drogan's pupil, Drogan taught her many things. Over the years, this one learned to fight very well, but her speech was inadequate, said the dwarf. He strived to school this one in better speaking skills, such as saying 'I' and 'me' rather than this one. This one learned to do so, after some trial and error; yet still she was criticized, and Drogan implored her to show emotion. This was much more difficult, this one found, yet she persevered and succeeded somewhat by mimicking the words of the household's most emotional: Xanos."

Thinking back to their first encounter, Deekin realized that "before I lose my patience" did sound like something the arrogant, temperamental half-orc would say. Umbra spoke yet, so he cleared his mind and listened.

"The only trouble was that emotion comes with difficulty to this one, and she failed to show any despite her choice of words. This one did her best, but always failed Drogan in that respect, though she compensated with her combat skills and arcane prowess. As we traveled the desert, though, this one fell back into her old ways of speaking."

"Deekin knows what you means," the kobold commented empathetically. "Old Boss tries and tries to gets Deekin to talks right. Deekin stops yipping, but when Deekin talks Old Boss still yells at Deekin, 'You should says I, not me!' Deekin tries hard to says it right, but he gets all confused and just says Deekin instead of me. Old Boss be mad then, and he says Deekin should says I, but Deekin forgets that too, and finally Old Boss just puts Deekin in little hole and keeps him there for four days and never tries to teach Deekin right again."

"That must have been unpleasant," Umbra commented sympathetically.

"Yeah, it not be fun, especially when Deekin gots to goes to the bathroom," he replied with a grimace, then paused. "In fact, Deekin thinks he gots to go right now. Can we stops for a moment, Boss?"

"Of course," she consented.

"Thanks, Boss," he thanked abashedly, hurrying off to do his business in some abandoned corner. Umbra stood patiently in the same spot until he returned.

"Deekin," she requested once they were walking again, "would you sing a song?"

"Oooh! You wants to hear Deekin sing!" he responded excitedly. "Deekin gladly sing for Boss!" He had nearly forgotten about the handsome new lute slung by a leather strap over his shoulder. Taking it off, he held it in his hands and checked it for damage. Amazingly, it had suffered only a few minor cracks after all this. Tuning the strings, he gave them a few test plucks and grinned.

"Deekin sings you the doom song! Doom doom doom! DOOM! Doom! Doom doom doom! DOOM!! We is doomed! Doom doom doom-doom doom DOOM!! Doom doom doom-doom doom DOOM!! Doom doom doom-doom doom DOOM!!" he belted, finding the Doom Song played on a lute to be a truly entrancing sound.

"Are you saying we are doomed?" Umbra asked, perplexed.

"DOOM!! Doom doom doom-doom doom DOOM!!" Deekin replied enthusiastically. The Doom Song was remarkably long, as well as possessing an uncanny ability to attract and enrage enemies; eighteen furious giant spiders and twenty-five minutes later, he was still singing it gleefully, without signs of stopping.

"Deekin...perhaps you could sing another song," Umbra suggested wearily.

"Sure thing, Boss!" he responded. Tuning his lute yet again, he racked his brain, mumbling, "Umm... mumble... mumble mumble... Deekin forgets the lyrics... la-te-da..." Ever resourceful, he burst into song nonetheless. "Oh-hhhh! Deekin's singing a song, yeah! Deekin's singing a song! He forgets how it goes, but nobody knows, 'cause Deekin's singing a so-ooong!! Dum-de-dum! Deekin and the Boss! De-dum-de-dum! Deekin and the Boss, yeah!!"

"Deekin..."

"Different song, Boss?"

"Different something...this one is not so certain she would like to hear another song just yet."

"Deekin tries poetry, maybe?" he ventured, slipping the lute back over his shoulder.

"Why not?" she consented. Well, Deekin hadn't spent the better part of his life reading musty old books in a morbidly obese dragon's den for nothing, and proved this by reciting a score of short poems, including:

"I went with the Duchess to tea,   
Her manners were shocking to see!   
Her rumblings abdominal   
Were simply phenomenal,   
And everyone thought it was me!

"There once was a man from the Moonsea,   
Whose limericks only went to line three,   
And never went farther.

"There once was a wizard of Thay,   
Who never had time to play!   
His patience eroded   
until his head exploded,   
and the stain never quite went away!

"There once was a man from Waterdeep,   
Who had three wives he couldn't keep!   
When asked, 'Why not one?'   
He said, 'Because it's fun!'   
"'Though I never get much time to sleep!'

"There once was a lady from Icewind Dale,   
Who baked cakes that soon went stale.   
The smell, unappealing,   
had the entire town reeling,   
Until a dwarf ate the cakes with his ale."

"Look!" Umbra cut in before Deekin could start again. She walked up to a viny black portcullis and lowered it by pressing down on a slender lever at its base. "We are here."

"Where be here?" Deekin wondered, scampering over curiously.

"This is the Great Library of Undrentide," Umbra answered pleasantly, stepping over the lowered portcullis and beckoning for Deekin to do the same. "This one thinks you would greatly enjoy this place." So saying, she gestured to the large room they had stepped into. Stretching up to a very high ceiling were four colossal bookcases, each one covering a broad wall. The floor wasn't empty either, divided into aisles by small--but still large--bookshelves. Deekin darted through a few in amazement, and saw that packed among the books on the wallside bookcases were open doors. Peeking through one of the doors, he could see another room as grand and book-filled as the first.

"Great Library really be great!" he remarked excitedly, bringing out his writing supplies and scribbling the details down as fast as he could. This accomplished, he stowed the supplies in his pack again and eagerly reached for a book. Upon its opening, the volume's aged pages crumbled into mildewy dust. To his dismay, so did the next four books the kobold opened.

"Aaaww..." he uttered in dismay. "Of all Netherese magics, Deekin not believes there not be any to keep books readable!"

"Well...at the very least, it does make for an interesting observation for your tale, does it not?" Umbra tried optimistically.

"Deekin guesses," he shrugged, returning the decrepit tomes to their places on the shelf. He'd been looking forward to seeing what kind of books the ancient Netherese peoples had read, but he supposed he should focus on finding the next Wind anyway. Wherever it was.

"Where Boss thinks we finds next Wind?" he queried, ambling obsequiously over to where Umbra stood.

"Yet again, this one has no idea," she said regretfully. "Rather than informing this one of anything of value, m'lord lent himself more to rambling about personal issues. Over, and over, and over."

"That bad?"

"You cannot begin to imagine," Umbra grumbled. "This one is hoping more and more that we somehow avoid encountering m'lord again."

"Deekin empathizes," he told her truthfully. Umbra started forward.

"Perhaps the Wise Wind is hidden behind one of the books on these shelves," she proposed, and began yanking books off the shelf haphazardly. Deekin sadly watched the tossed books crumble into several pieces upon impact with the floor, but understood Umbra's sudden haste: the faster they found the Winds, the faster they could stop Heurodis and be out of Undrentide, thereby avoiding an encounter with "m'lord". Deekin himself was wary of meeting anything powerful enough to lord over Umbra, and began tugging books off the shelves as well. A half-hour later, they had emptied three regular bookcases of their contents and were working on stripping the bottom half of one of the immense wallside bookcases.

Deeking gripped one book by the spine and prepared to fling it aside and move on to the next, but caught himself. This book was in better condition than the others, he saw, and opened it to the middle. This was blank; curious, he flipped back past sheets and sheets of aged, but blank paper. Only the first two pages contained any text, which was written in a peculiar, scratchy handwriting and read:

"I can smell your feet.   
Their odor lingers even these many years   
after you last tread here.   
Now there is only dust and shadows,   
as my belly   
scrapes   
the ground...

Dagget Filth

Year 832 after The Fall

Damn, I'm bored..."

"Strange," Deekin muttered to himself, tucking the book in pack without care--the spider guts were almost completely dry now. "Deekin wonders who Dagget Filth be?" He pulled out his writing supplies, made a note of this, then put them back in the backpack and stretched his aching joints. As he stretched, he glimpsed the door that was embedded in this large bookcase and led into another room. Curious, he peeked his head through the doorway and saw that this room was much identical to the prior...but in the center of the room were two very large books splayed open and propped up on stands. Deekin was intrigued, and about to scuttle over and investigated, when he caught himself.

"You remembers what happens _last_ time you wanders off by yourself?" he scolded himself, remembering the vicious manticore attack that had ensued, then paused thoughtfully. "Actually, that be second-to-last-time...last time, Deekin redeems Burning Men! Even Boss be impressed!" He shone at this memory and snuck into the next room, his mind made up. "Besides, they only be books..."

Deekin approached the oversized tomes with some degree of awe and wonder--this was the fallen city of Undrentide, after all. He looked first at the tome on his right, whose pages were cloaked with a thick film of dust. He inhaled and blew the dust off, coughing and choking in the resulting miniature dust storm. Blinking furiously and clearing the air with sweeps of his hands, he squinted down at the revealed pages, only to find that the ink that once covered them had all but faded away, leaving a pale, blank surface. The kobold grumbled and wandered over to the second tome, pressed back-to-back with the first. He was more careful about cleaning off the pages on this book, and brushed them gently with his sleeve, then gazed at them scrutinously.

Dust still covered the pages of what appeared to be an unassuming romance novel. It was lovingly illustrated, though the inks had dulled with age, and Deekin admired the fine detail with which the frown lines had been etched in a drawing of a young man's face, adding grief but not age. He turned his attention to the ornately lettered tale itself, and couldn't help but read it. The young man was a blind beggar named William who, though strong of build and noble of bearing, was cursed with blindness and a twisted leg that had left him lame. He mourned a woman named Jendra, and though Deekin couldn't flip back through the frail pages to find out who she was, it was quite clear she meant a lot to the blind boy, who wailed and bemoaned his sweetheart's plight unrelentingly. The uniform letters in which the tale was written conveyed a great deal of emotion and acute description, so as Deekin read, he could almost see the day sky waning into the darkness of a starless night, the untamed grass and gnarly trees which seemed to wither with the sorrow of the moment, and the sightless cripple himself, whose unseeing eyes poured rivers of tears into the bowl of his cupped hands. The flowers were in full bloom despite his despair, and their intoxicating aroma reminded him of his lost beloved.

"Jendra, sweet Jendra you are gone! Betrayed by kin and clan and I, your William, I can do nothing more for you than weep! O gods, thy names art Cruelty and Injustice!" he sobbed, standing only with the support of a knobby cane lodged in the crook of his arm.

"Nice sentiment, but Deekin thinks speech be overdone," Deekin remarked thoughtfully. "He be sad! Crying be most convincing by itself, Deekin thinks."

"Wh-what? Who are you?" William cried, breaking from his grievance and wobbling on his cane and working leg, listening for what his eyes could not see.

"Huh?" Deekin scanned the area around him. No longer was he in the Great Library of Undrentide, poring over an ancient tome; no, now he stood in a small forest, with walls of trees whose leaves hung like tears from their branches. And there before him stood William, looking almost as startled and frightened as the kobold himself.

"Deekin...be...in story?" Deekin pondered hesitantly. This only confused William more. Deekin forced a grin to comfort him, though William couldn't see it. This was for the best, as it would only have distressed him further to see a kobold baring his teeth at him.

"Deekin be Deekin, of course!" Deekin scratched his head nervously. "And...umm...you be William, right?" William dipped his head slowly in a wary nod.

"How do you know my name?" he wondered, gripping his cane with both hands so tightly his knuckles blanched. "Did Jendra's wicked stepmother send you to kill me?"

"Wicked stepmother? That _really_ be overdone," Deekin muttered to himself.

"What?" William asked, growing more perplexed by the moment.

"Uhh...what Deekin means is...Deekin not here to kills you!" Deekin said quickly. Deekin reasoned that he had fallen under some sort of Netherese enchantment, and been absorbed into the story as he read it. He'd read of such spells before, and the only way out was to go along with the storyline until it ended. "What Deekin means is, what happened and how can Deekin helps?"

"On learning of our love, Jendra's stepmother sent her to that monastery across the way," William explained with a frown, pointing across a short bridge to a cave gaping out of a rock wall like a moaning mouth. "An ill wind comes from it, though, I can smell it on the air. I fear for her." Letting go of his cane, he crashed dramatically to his knees, clapping his face into his palms. "O! that I were a knight and had the means to charge to her rescue! Alas, since birth the gods have cursed me with eyes that cannot see and a twisted leg that leaves me lame. It is enough I have made it this far without dying heartbroken, blind, and lonely within the depths of some crevasse. O sweet Jendra, this world is a tragedy for us both."

"Calm down, everything going to be okay," Deekin assured him awkwardly. It wasn't often grown men broke down and bemoaned their life in front of him, fictional or no.

"'Okay...' That is all my life can ever be now without her," William said morosely, dabbing his tearful blind eyes on his blue shirt sleeve. "Gone are the days of 'wonderful' and 'splendid'... Gone is her beauty from my world. Everything is drab and plain and ordinary again."

"Maybe Deekin helps somehow," the kobold suggested helpfully. "What Jendra looks like?" Upon this query, a light went into William's unseeing face.

"A girl with the softest voice and the smoothest skin," he reminisced dreamily. "Her lips on mine were ever tender. Noble by blood and nobler yet by soul, I loved her and she loved me in return..." William trailed off, his mood darkening again as he remembered the circumstances.

"Very nice, but that not helps much," Deekin sighed. "Neverminds. Deekin figures it out. Now...you says she be in big, spooky monastery in that cave over there?" Deekin pointed at said cave; though he couldn't see, Willian nodded. "Okay, Deekin just wants to makes sure."

"So you'll help me?" William cried gleefully. "You'll save my darling Jendra as I cannot?"

"Of course!" the kobold grinned. "After all, Deekin gots Bo--" For the first time, it occurred to him that Umbra was still in the real world, and he was on his own. William's hopeful face tugged at his conscience, though; reluctantly, he gulped and finished, "Deekins helps."

"Thank-you, thank-you!" William gushed, tears of joy as well as sorrow streaming down his face.

"You be welcome...just try not to dehydrates while Deekin gone, okies?" Deekin returned.

Crossing the bridge was something of a trial in itself, as the architecture of it was far from stable, and it swung recklessly with every step Deekin took, no matter how gentle that step was. Finally, the kobold resorted to racing across the structure. Once he did, there was the cave, towering menacingly over him like a great maw preparing to bite. An ominous wind did indeed flow out of it, carrying the smell of blood and sulphur and the sound of tortured screams on it. Deekin shivered and seriously considered turning back. But then he thought...how would he feel if it was Umbra in there? If it were he who could only stand idly by outside and beg for someone, anyone to save her? It was highly unlikely that Umbra would ever be the "damsel in distress" of any tale, but what if? Besides, if he didn't complete the story, he'd never get out and he probably _wouldn't_ ever see her again. Powered by his own determination and good will, Deekin set off into the cave's fear-inspiring depths and immediately regretted it. The story refused to let him turn back, however, and forced him to keep going.

The cave's entrance led into a narrow passage, which little Deekin had no trouble slipping through. At the end was a thick wooden door with diamond-shaped patterns. It looked innocent enough, but for its scorches and suspicious stains, and the many cracks through which echoing shrieks and fetid scents wafted. Deekin trembled, but the story took hold of his arm and he pushed the door inward. He stepped into a small room, stone-walled room, which seemed vacant, though the air was pungent. He didn't see anyone, and he started to relax when a shrill voice fumed impertently, "An intruder?! Come, sister, it must not interfere with the ritual!"

Ritual? Deekin thought for a split second, any worries with a ritual replaced with concern for his own well-being as two women sprung from their hiding places. Their weapons were long metal maces with sharp spikes on either end, and the women themselves wore bronze armor and looks of seething hatred, dead set on eradicating the trespassing kobold. Deekin didn't hope to overpower them in battle; espying a door to his left, he bolted toward it. The door stuck for a moment, to his horror, then gave way to his pushing and caved in. Nearly falling down, Deekin caught himself, scrambled in and slammed the door behind him--only to find he had leapt from the kettle to the flames.

This room was larger than the first, cloaked in darkness and smelling like death. Several armed women chanted arcane verses, standing in a ring around a corpse. Deekin's heart was pounding impossibly fast, but he dared a closer look. Lying facedown in its own blood, the corpse was that of a fair young woman, almost certainly...Jendra.

The ritual was then completed in a burst of red smoke, and the smell of brimstone washed over the room as a humongous red devil rose up from nowhere, its dark eyes glinting evilly, membranous wings flapping to pull itself up into this new realm, jaw stretching and boasting sharp black fangs as it roared triumphantly. The women joined in the devil's victorious call with their own vicious laughter, and, brandishing heavy weapons, turned around to face Deekin. He backed up a step and closed his eyes, wincing at the pain to come...

...and opened them again when it didn't. He was gone from that dreaded place, to his relief, and once again stood in a cavernous room of Undrentide's Great Library, leaned over the old text of an ancient romance novel. After assuring himself that he was safe, he looked down at the story's final words.

"THE END."

How blatant. Deekin couldn't help but pity poor William and Jendra, even if they weren't real. He grimaced thoughtfully; then, shrugging off his pack, he took out a stout inkwell and a scraggly quill pen. Dipping the pen in the ink, he stirred it well and took it out. With vigorous strokes, he slashed out the words that composed the unhappy ending; then, stirring the quill in ink again, he put the pen to what little space was left on the second page and wrote his own ending. It wasn't elaborate, and didn't take long, but when he finished he was content with it. He read it:

"Sunlight streamed into the long-dark temple..."

Predictably, the surrounding library gave way to the fictional area of the brightened temple. Sure enough, sunlight streamed in the temple through broad breaks in the ceiling, illuminated the scattered corpses on the floor--one devil, hunched over bitterly, and seven women, their faces contorted in hatred even in death. In the center of the room, standing untouched by this gore, were Jendra and William. No longer blind or lame, William wore a shiny blue suit of armor and held in his arms a very lovely, very alive Jendra, who wore a dress yellow as sunflowers. They saw Deekin approach and greeted him with beaming smiles.

"A different ending than the last, isn't it, my friend?" William greeted joyously. "She lives! She bears a face more beautiful than I had ever imagined and I bear the eyes to see it! Jendra, my Lady Love, this is Deekin Scalesinger who saved us both!"

"My beloved Sir William says it was by your hand that he was knighted," she said in sweet voice. "For that, I shall always thank you. His rescue was most gallant, especially since I thought it was a kindly beggar youth I loved."

"A ruse, a lover's ruse, sweet Jendra, that I might win your heart's true affection and not have you simply love the Sir before my name!" Sir William chided her lovingly. "I know, now and forever, that you love me for who I truly am!" She giggled at this and he hugged her tighter.

"Yeah, it be nice ending, good and happy," Deekin agreed. "Be a little cliched, but Deekin working on deadline, here."

"Aye, come what may, true love has found me," Sir William smiled. "And what of you, Deekin? Have you found what it was you were looking for? Do you still seek the Wise Wind?"

"Yep," he nodded, "Deekin still looking. But...Deekin think he might know where it be."

"That is good," William said. "Travel well, my friend, and may the pages of your life never grow brittle."

"Sames to you, Sir William," Deekin grinned, then paused.

"What is it, my friend?" Sir William encouraged, noticing his hesitation.

"It be dumb question, really," Deekin decided.

"I have dwelt in this book for a very long time. I'm sure I can help."

"Well..." He was reluctant, but finally asked, "How you knows you be in love?"

"Oh." Sir William smiled and kissed his beloved's forehead delicately. "You feel it in your heart, in your soul..." He stopped, at a loss for better words.

"You just know," Jendra finished. "If you love someone, you want to be with them, all the rest of your life. You want to hold them, be close to them...you know."

"Oh," Deekin said, and smiled. "Thanks, Lady Jendra." And then he closed his eyes. When he opened them, he was again in the Great Library. Without hesitation, he scurried over the other, practically blank tome. As he'd told William, he had a sneaking suspicion he knew how to capture the Wise Wind, but couldn't be sure until he tried. So, he dipped the quill in ink once again, and began writing on the faded vellum. His writing was large and sloppy in his excitement, and took up a good portion of the first page--keep in mind that each page was nearly as tall as Deekin himself, and even wider. Still, he got it written, and read it over with gleeful anticipation:

"Beside a calm oasis, the intrepid kobold, Deekin Scalesinger, sprung his trap upon the Wise Wind..."

The library vanished, and the serene setting of a sparkling desert oasis flanked by two palm trees appeared in its stead. Deekin stood off to the side, enjoying the serenity of the scene his words had summoned, when the oasis began to bubble. The bubbles grew more plentiful, creating a froth, and out of the froth rose a great bubble, large enough to contain a full-grown man if he crouched. The bubble floated up out of the waters, a spectrum of colors glossing its surface, and Deekin watched it go with wonder. The bubble hovered several feet above the small oasis, and trembled violently; then, with a ridiculously amplified exploding sound, it popped, and a whirlwind swirled down out of where it had been. The Wise Wind was a spinning dervish, touching down on the oasis and spinning water up into its gaseous being. Sand grains flew into the windy mass as well, granting the Wise Wind a tubular, brownish appearance.

Deekin was unfearing, as a silvery shortbow appeared in his hands. He drew it back, and a glittering arrow shimmered into being between the bow and its taut string. Deekin let it go, and it shot off into the Wind's tornadic center. The Wind screamed, a sound like a breeze blowing between the cracks in a cliff; then it sighed and died down, descending into a whirlpool in the oasis's waters, then even that settled. With a gentle _plop_, a small, glowing orb broke the water's surface and floated there harmlessly. Deekin reached as far he could and scooped it out. With a satisfied smile, he gazed fondly down at the little sphere in his hands, all that remained of the Wise Wind.

"Deekin?" He turned around, and saw that Umbra stood there. His smile broadened at the sight, and he blinked. Obediently, the oasis scene faded away into the Library once more, but Umbra remained.

"What were you reading?" she asked curiously. Rather than answering, Deekin held his palms out to her.

"Is that...the Wise Wind?" she wondered in astonishment, taking it. She held the small, brilliant globe between two long, dark fingers, her face emotionless as ever. Then with a smile in her voice, she said, "You have done well, Deekin. Very well. This one is proud of you." So saying, she caressed his head gently and gave the Wind back to him.

"You not wants it, Boss?" he wondered.

"You caught the Wind," she answered. "It is yours." She caressed his head once more. "There is one more Wind we must find. Are we ready to move on?"

"We be," Deekin affirmed with a grin.

"Then let us go," said Umbra, walking away at a leisurely pace. Deekin smiled very wide, dropped the Wind gently in his pack, and scurried ahead to Umbra's side. In his heart, in his soul, he knew it was true; he wanted to be with Umbra, to be close to her, to hold her, for all the rest of his life. And if Umbra felt the same way...maybe he could be.

* * *

(Please tell me that chapter wasn't too sappy...anyway, Chapter Sixteen is coming! Eventually. And it _will_ be worth the wait for a change! Also, I finished the main Morrowind quest, so it shouldn't take forever to get around to writing this time. Hey look, horizontal line!) 


	16. Darkness

(A/N: I haven't been writing like I should. Blame my dogs--they chewed up the keyboard cord, thereby ruining the keyboard. My "new" keyboard came from the attic, and the A and G keys hate me. Oh well. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, you know who you are :) Please, keep reviewing. This is the longest--and, in my humble opinion, best--chapter yet.

Disclaimer: I don't own Neverwinter Nights, Dungeons and Dragons, or Forgotten Realms. Never have, never will.)

Chapter Sixteen

"Deekin thinks that Undrentide be very dusty place," Deekin remarked thoughtfully, sneezing to punctuate his point.

"Is it now?" Umbra sounded amused. "Will that be going into the epic tale?"

"Hmm...somehow Deekin not thinks that fits in real well," he responded. Thinking it over, he described, "'With one arcing swing, the great hero felled the mythic creature of legends old...oh, and by the way, it was real dusty in there.'"

There was something close to laughter in Umbra's tone. "You are right, of course," she agreed.

"Deekin knew Boss would agree," Deekin smiled. They had been walking long enough for Deekin to have written all about his journey in the enchanted library book, and had told Umbra about it as he wrote. Though unsurprised--this _was_ Undrentide, after all--Umbra was very pleased with the way Deekin had handled the situation. This, in turn, pleased Deekin; few things made him happier than praise from the Boss. He left out the part where he asked Jendra and Sir William about love, of course.

A grating metal-on-metal noise caught Deekin's attention.

"You hears that, Boss?" he asked.

"This one did," she avered.

"It be coming from up ahead," he noted.

"Lead the way, but be careful," Umbra instructed. Deekin was glad to do so. He followed the noise up a short passageway, where a doorway cut in the hall's left side led into a small room. Deekin peeked into the room cautiously. Standing in the room's center was a tall, humanoid figure, constructed entirely of sturdy metal. Its metal jaw unhinged with a creaking and scraping noise, and clamped back down with a jarring reverberation. As Deekin listened, the sounds melded into something of a voice, and the voice formed patterns that resembled words, though try as he might, Deekin couldn't understand them.

"That is a golem," Umbra reported, standing over him. Then, as if reading his thoughts, she informed, "It speaks Netherese."

"Does you knows what it says, Boss?" Deekin wondered.

"Yes," Umbra replied. "The golem cries, 'Would you like your home and belongings guarded? If so, come visit the Golem Emporium on Northwest Vizier Street! We have the protection you need!'"

Deekin was ponderously quiet.

"Why?" he finally asked.

"It advertises," she told him. "When Undrentide still flew, the Golem Emporium sold golems to guard homes against thieves. M'lord said he owned one once, very, very, very long ago. It went berserk and tried to kill him after so long, though." With an edge of sarcasm, she added, "What a surprise."

Deekin was astonished. "How old your boss be, anyway?"

"That is something you would have to ask of m'lord himself," Umbra responded, walking ahead and advising Deekin, "Take care not to disturb the golem. It is in bad shape, but it could easily crush you." Deekin heeded her advice, scurrying past the door quickly. When again at Umbra's side, Deekin took out his writing supplies and made a note of the golems. It struck him as sad, somehow, that even after all these millenia, the golem still faithfully advertised for the Emporium.

Undrentide's entirety suddenly gave a tremendous tremor, flinging Deekin to the floor.

"Why...why did ground moves like that?" he asked incredulously. "Deekin not feel ground moves except back when Old Master sleep badly after he eats too much fish. Deekin used to tell Old Master, 'You should not eats so much fish!' That only make Old Master mad, though, so he go eats even more fish.

Then he make ground shake in cave all night. Once Deekin falls in crack in ground and he stucks there for whole week..."

"Heurodis is raising the city," Umbra broke in grimly, helping Deekin to his feet. The city shook again, though not as enthusiastically this time around. "She has discovered how to empower the mythallar. We must hurry." Umbra began walking away briskly. Deekin nodded and ran to keep up, writing, "The evil plan of Heurodis was close to fruition. Our intrepid heroes could only hold their queasy stomachs as the city lurched to life around them."

"Deekin, please hasten your pace," requested Umbra, who wasn't holding her stomach at all.

"Sorries, Boss," he apologized, tucking the supplies away and hurrying to catch up. After some walking and several mild quakes, Umbra stopped in front of a plain, chipped stone door.

"This is the Arcanists' Tower, where we should find the third and final Wind," she said.

"Who be Arcanist and why he gots a tower?" Deekin puzzled.

"There were many Arcanists, actually," Umbra corrected him. "They were the wizarding lords of Undrentide, who kept the city afloat with their arcane abilities. The most powerful was the High Arcanist."

"And they all owns same tower?"

"Yes. Or, they did...they are all dead now, of course. Save the High Arcanist's apprentice."

"Oooh, gotcha." Deekin wrote this down and put his writing supplies away. "Who apprentice be?"

"The lord of m'lord."

"Oh." Deekin pondered this as Umbra pushed the door open, stomach sinking at the thought that Umbra's lord would have a lord. "How your boss still be ali--"

"Come," she commanded. "This one is anxious to capture the last Wind and find Heurodis." So saying, she slipped into the tower.

"Wait--but, Boss..." Deekin started, then sighed. Umbra didn't cherish the idea of discussing "m'lord" when they could be hunting Winds, and neither should he, he supposed. Disappointed, Deekin shambled into the Arcanists' Tower.

The first thing Deekin noticed about the Arcanists' Tower was that it was very, very dark. Fortunately, being a kobold, he was able to navigate through it. He noticed that there were many tables and bookcases in this room, but all had been stripped of their contents, so all that was left was the occasional worm-eaten book or grimy potion bottle--two of which fell and broke after another tremor. Deekin was examining this curiously, when he glimpsed something bright out of the corner of his eye. He whirled around and saw a large fire built up near the center of the room. No, he realized, treading closer, that wasn't a fire--it was a fire elemental, trapped in a small metal cage barely large enough to accustom it at all, let alone comfortably, though the elemental didn't seem to mind its predicament. A humanoid, pot-bellied creature with crusty black skin reminiscent of volcanic rock, and fire bursting out of a veiny network of cracks in the stony skin, the fire elemental bore a silly, sloppy smile, and its flaming sockets stared mindlessly past the rusted bars of its cage. Deekin stared at this oddity for a moment or so before he had to blink his eyes from the brightness. Looking away to give his eyes a rest, he saw that another was near the elemental's cage.

It was a rat. A big, fat, sleeping dire rat. Dire rats are meaner and stronger than regular rats, but Deekin was far from daunted. Rather, he began salivating; he was hungry, and the dried spider guts were looking bland in comparison to plump, unsuspecting rodent before him. Allowing instict to take over, the kobold bunched his muscles and sprang at the rat, sinking his teeth into its fat middle. The dire rat's tough hide kept it from being hurt too badly, though it awoke in a panic.

"I'm awake! I'm awake! Man the hatches, we're diving to three hundred feet!!!" it squeaked frantically, feet skittering uselessly from its suspended position. A moment later, it noticed Deekin's jaws clamped on it.

"What are you doing?" the rodent demanded crossly, swatting Deekin's snout with a tiny forefoot. "Put me down, you cad!" More than a little surprised, Deekin obeyed, letting the rat fall from his mouth to the floor. The dire rat landed on its back and wriggled furiously, finally righting itself. Having regained its footing, it spun around and gave Deekin a beady-eyed glare.

"That was my mistake," it grumbled. "Next time I'm about to eaten by a scaly giant, I'll be sure to say '_Set_ me down, you cad!'"

"Deekin sorry about that," Deekin apologized awkwardly.

"Of course you, of course you are," the rodent muttered irritably, smoothing back its gray coat.

"How you speaks Common?" Deekin wondered.

"I don't!" the rat snapped. "You just think I do. Some spell old what's-his-pickle put on me, back in the day."

"What's-his-pickle?" Deekin repeated, catching himself before another quake could cause him to tumble.

"Yes, old what's-his-name..." The rat noticed Deekin's blank look. "What, it's been a while, alright! I mean, they have all manner of rules and whatnots in place for what should happen to a wizard when his familiar dies but the reverse? Nothing! Zero! Zilch!"

"Huh?" Deekin uttered cluelessly. The rat sighed.

"Nevermind. I'm Dagget Filth, with an IQ triple your own, I wager, and more gray hairs than you can shake a wig at! And judging by your ignoble habit of referring to yourself in the third person, I take it your name is Deekin."

"Yep, Deekin be Deekin alright," he affirmed, searching his pack and bringing out a book, which he held in front of Dagget. "You be Dagget Filth, so you writes book right here, right?"

"There isn't very well another Dagget Filth, now, is there?" Dagget scoffed. "Of course I wrote it! A long, long time ago. It gets boring here, you know."

"Deekin can guess," he nodded, getting out his writing supplies. "What was you sayings about falling three hundred feet at first?"

"Hehe. I bet you thought I was crazy for a minute there, didn't you?" Dagget chuckled bitterly. "Three hundred feet! Ha! That's the kind of tom fool protocol that got us into this mess in the first place. A thousand feet, I told them! But did they listen?"

"A thousand feet?" said Deekin.

"Absolutely!" Dagget shouted, tail switching emphatically. "A thousand-foot minimum! Two thousand if you can! It's a safety precaution in case something goes horribly, dreadfully wrong, you see."

"Uhh...what could goes wrong?"

"Well, you could fall out of the sky, for starters," Dagget said matter-of-factly. "Then the High Arcanist to whom you're bonded body and soul could die a horrible crushing death beneath a pile of rubble while shopping for your morning vegetables..."

"That not sound good," Deekin interjected, realizing that Dagget was referring to how high up the cities had flown. If a city were too low to the ground, it would crash too quickly for anyone to react to the disaster.

"It really isn't, let me assure you, my big scaly friend," Dagget sighed. "After that, you linger, haunted by guilt for untold years, an insipid fire elemental for warmth and company, while Shadovar from a rival (and much smarter) city slowly occupy the school said High Arcanist headmastered..."

"High Arcanist?" Deekin questioned. Ignoring him, Dagget went on, "Then, just when you think you've settled into a morosely pleasant existence, someone comes along and starts firing up the old mythallar again, no doubt hoping to buzz around the landscape at three hundred feet all over again..."

"Rat person talks about scary snake lady, maybe?" Deekin wondered.

"You're sharp for a lizard, aren't you?" Dagget said, skittering to keep his bearing as Undrentide shook again. "Unfortunately, all this shaking has repercussions. Big repercussions! Are you listening to me?"

"Ummm... yup, Deekin writes it all down..." Deekin affirmed, having started recording the rat's ramblings on paper.

"Frightened by the sudden activity, said Shadovar begin to steal everything (bricks, mortar, and the Dark Wind notwithstanding) back to their namby-pamby "Plane of Shadows." And then..."

"And then...?" Deekin encouraged.

"And then, just when you think things couldn't get any worse (what with the Shadovar and all), I find myself rudely awoken and asked ridiculously banal questions by the likes of you!!!" Dagget fumed. Ignoring this fit, Deekin asked, "What be Shadovar, anyway?"

"Yes, back when my master, High Arcanist whosamacallit, was still alive, one of his students broke off and formed a rival city. The student could have taught my master a few things about safety regulations, might I add..." Deekin's eyes widened as he remembered Umbra telling him her master's master was an apprentice of the High Arcanist.

"When all the floating cities of Netheril tumbled out of the sky, this student's city was flying at a safe altitude of a thousand-plus feet, you see," Dagget went on. "He had time to jump the entire city into the Plane of Shadow."

"Plane of Shadow? How he do that?"

"Oh, goodness knows. He always was a bright lad. At any rate, the shift was permanent and they've stayed there ever since, with the exception of the occasional trip into Undrentide. Call themselves Shadovar, now."

"If they be trapped in Shadow Plane, how they gets here?" Deekin asked quizzically.

"Look, just because I have a ridiculously high IQ doesn't mean I have all the answers, okay?" Dagget told him. "We were rival cities, full of spies and industrial espionage and the like. There's always a back door somewhere. Regardless, after the crash they pretty much took up residence here in the tower. Now that someone's reactivated the mythal, though, they're getting jumpy. Nobody wants a fall, right? So they're stealing stuff..."

"What they steals?"

"Oh, any of my master's magic, I'm sure, and the Dark Wind especially. But, to be honest, they're tearing the entire place apart, bricks, mortar, everything. I guess they mean to rebuild it back at home. Fortunately, there's Old Fireshorts here." Dagget gestured to the caged fire elemental with a tiny paw. "His brain boiled off long ago, but he casts a fair bit of light to keep the Shadovar at bay..."

As if on cue, Umbra stepped out of the shadows and into the firelight.

"Oh, would you look at that," Dagget grumbled. "A Shadovar."

"You be Shadovar, Boss?" Deekin cried. Umbra ignored his question, addressing Dagget Filth instead.

"You say m'lord's servants are stealing the place away, bit by bit?" she asked.

"Isn't that what I just said?" Dagget retorted. "You should know, anyway."

"You are certain the Shadovar took the Dark Wind?" she persisted.

"Well, did you?" Dagget snapped.

"Nevermind," Umbra said, turning and walking away.

"Nope, I never do, never do," Dagget yawned, flopping down and closing its eyes. "That ought to teach you to let a sleeping rat lie."

Deekin paused and wondered if he should write something of this, then decided he could write later and ran to catch up to Umbra, who stood near a door at the room's back.

"Boss, Deekin be very confused right now," he announced truthfully.

"Lower your voice," she instructed him. "You know not what lies beyond this door."

"Okay," Deekin said quietly. "But what be goings on?"

"The short story," Umbra explained, "is as the rat told you. One of the High Arcanist's apprentices discovered a potent magic called the Shadow Weave, found on the Shadow Plane. He broke off from Undrentide and formed a rival city; when the Netherese cities fell, the apprentice moved his city to the Shadows. M'lord was one of the apprentice's closest friends, and earned a sizeable plot of land in this new realm. But this is not enough for him; he is greedy and cruel. That is why he wished to raise Undrentide once more, so he could attempt to match the power of his lord. He sent this one, his most trusted servant, out in an enchanted robe, to take from Drogan the mythal of Undrentide--though, as you well know, this one grew lax in her efforts and did not return, mythal or no. But m'lord was a fool to tell a plane-skipping medusa of his aspirations, and Heurodis sought this one out and wrought havoc, eventually recovering the mythallar and taking over his plans. Is that sufficient information for you, Deekin?"

Deekin, who was hurriedly writing all this down, finally nodded. "Yep, Deekin thinks that be enough. Story not so confusing now. Except...how Shadovar escapes Shadow Plane?"

"Through planar portals," Umbra said simply. "They are simple enough to create, if you have an extensive knowledge of the arcane as m'lord does."

"One more question," Deekin posed, writing this down.

"Yes?" Umbra pressed, beleaguered.

"How you spells 'planar'?"

"P-L-A-N-A-R."

"Thanks, Boss," he grinned, making the necessary revisions and tucking the notebook and quill away.

"Yes," Umbra acknowledged. "Now, this one needs you to be silent and watch." So saying, she creaked the door open and motioned for Deekin to look through. He did so.

On the other side of the door was yet another room. From wall to wall and floor to ceiling, the place was completely bare, and even the walls were missing bricks. Grabbing the bricks and stowing them away in black parcels were at least two dozen strange people. Some were men, some were women; some had skin black as coal, some had skin white as chalk, and the rest were every shade of gray in between. They wore tattered gray clothing, and their watery black eyes darted about nervously as they whispered worriedly to each other, their fingers scrabbling at the crumbling mortar and prying the loosened bricks free.

"They are the Shadovar, these in particular being minions under m'lord's command," Umbra told Deekin in a hushed tone. "Deekin, this one would introduce you to the Shadows of Undrentide."

"Shadows of Undrentide..." Deekin murmured. Umbra pushed the door all the way open and walked in. "Boss, waits!" Deekin cried, running after her. The Shadovar noticed first Deekin, regarding him with jeering looks, then looked at Umbra with terrified awe.

"Aaaaiiiieee!" they yelped, scrambling into trembling, defensive positions. "It is the High Arcanist returned to flesh!" There was something decidedly koboldish about them, Deekin noted.

"You are cowards and fools," Umbra remarked derisively. "Does this one look to be the High Arcanist returned to flesh?"

The Shadovar were shamefully silent.

"No," they gradually admitted, relaxing. "We've been working in a dead man's house too long."

There was an awkward silence, interrupted only by the clinking of brick removal.

"It is only the lord's pet," one said finally, and there was weak laughter among them. "I did not recognize it in that robe...should've recognized the robe itself, though." Deekin glowered at the suggestion that Umbra was anyone's pet, but guessed that now was the time for him to be silent.

"Pet or no, this one is your superior," Umbra stated, and in one quick motion seized a Shadovar man by the collar of his worn gray shirt.

"Where is the Dark Wind?" Umbra demanded in a cold, emotionless tone.

"Ou-our lord has it," he stammered. Umbra dropped him to the hard ground carelessly. The man regained his bearings and ran to a wall where his fellows worked.

"He would," she muttered. Then, more loudly, she commanded, "None of you are to even think of harming the kobold. Understood?" Deekin realized she meant him. The Shadovar nodded in due course.

"Now, then." Umbra stooped down to Deekin's height and faced him. "Deekin, do you still hold the shard this one gave you?"

"Yes, Deekin has it," he affirmed, pulling out of his pocket the black shard Umbra had given him that night in the desert. Umbra took it from him, then fished around in her woolen gray backpack, withdrawing a small, rectangular black object. Like the shard, its surface rippled as though alive. On further inspection, Deekin saw that it appeared to be a small door. Strange words were written on it in silver symbols, and beneath the cryptic wording was a small, asymmetrical impression. Umbra slid the shard into it; a perfect fit.

The door sprang to life, jerking out of Umbra hands and twirling through the air, finally settling on the floor. There, it expanded repeatedly, until it was the size of a regular door. Umbra slid her fingers between the door and the slim doorframe, prying it open. Deekin looked on in astoundment; though there was nothing behind the door when he checked, the door opened into an area of thick blackness.

"This is a planar door into the Shadow Plane," Umbra explained to him. "It leads directly into m'lord's private quarters."

A shiver went up Deekin's spine.

"And we be going in?" he questioned timidly.

"We must," Umbra avered reluctantly. "M'lord has the third Wind."

"But--but maybe he not be ready for company," Deekin suggested frantically. "Maybe he be in bath...or going to the bathroom...or sleeping...or changing clothes!"

"This one doubts you would find a shadow lich doing any of those things," Umbra commented wryly. A second shiver went up Deekin's spine at this morbid comment. Deekin knew what a lich was--a mage who had used magic to change into an immortal, skeletal undead and cheat death. But what was a shadow lich? He didn't think he wanted to find out, but Umbra had already walked through the physics-defying door and vanished into the darkness. Deekin didn't like the looks the Shadovar were giving him; cursing his options, he plunged into the darkness after her.

Deekin blinked furiously, but the darkness was unnatural, heavy and stifling, and all his eyes could make out was blackness. The door had shut behind him, locking him in. It would be impossible to write here, but he whispered to himself as though he were writing, "And the intrepid heroes stepped into a realm of darkness and shadow! The kobold companion quickly wet himself in fear..." A cold hand clamped down on his shoulder; Deekin shrieked and spun around to see Umbra standing there, just barely visible in the pitch dark.

"Deekin, there is no need to fear," she assured him. "The shadows cannot harm you so long as this one is here." Deekin smiled, albeit fearfully. Umbra paused thoughtfully, then removed one of her longswords from its sheath and held it out like a torch. Bright light emanated from the sword's glowing blade, and though most of the surrounding area was still black, the sword cast a small circle of light around them.

"Thanks, Boss." Deekin's tail waved gratefully. "Deekin appreciates that."

"Now, come." She grasped his hand gently and led him through the shadows. "M'lord awaits."

As they wandered, Deekin began to see the outlines of things--normal things, so normal they were odd in this strange place. There were chairs, tables, crates, chests, cupboards, plates, dishes, childhood toys, fountains, maybe even an occasional small animal, and more, shaded in darkness.

"Boss," he asked, "why those be here?" He pointed at the out-of-place items.

"Those are shadows. The Shadow Plane is something of a shadow itself," Umbra replied. "You come from the world of Toril. The shadows your world casts off--they end up here, in this one's world. Toril's old shadows are what the Shadow Plane is made of." Deekin was ponderously silent at this new bit of knowledge. He thought of the many shadows he'd seen in his lifetime. He imagined a mushroom back in the Nether Mountains; when the mushroom was eaten, would its shadow end up here? It was a fascinating notion, and thinking about it eased his fears.

"Deekin!" Umbra cried sharply, yanking Deekin aside. Something cold grazed his arm; feeling it, he found his shirt sleeve now had three long tears. He scrutinized the area where the thing had passed and barely saw a dark mist, which pooled into a more recognizable shape. It appeared to be the silhouette of a man, with malicious exaggerations--sharp shoulders, arms that reached its ankles, twisted hands with four large, sharp fingers that looked more like oversized claws. Its face bore no features, but for two dark red blotches that resembled eyes. Deekin stumbled back in surprise.

"M'lord," Umbra greeted weakly. So this was the shadow lich, Deekin realized; all that remained of a man who had long ago integrated himself with the shadows to become one. The shadow lich shied away from the light of Umbra's sword, his red eyes narrowing at it resentfully. Suddenly, the light extinguished, and darkness settled over them once more. Somehow, Deekin knew it was the lich's doing.

_"Bring light into my estate, will you?"_ the lich said hatefully. His voice faintly echoed of a man's, but most of the humanity had gone out of it, leaving a dry hiss.

"This one is sorry, m'lord," Umbra apologized.

_"Sorry for what?"_ the shadow lich demanded, eyes blazing. _"I gave you one of my rarest arcane items. With complete, misplaced confidence in you, I sent out into Toril to bring one single thing back to me. You never did that. You stayed on the light plane for almost a decade, and now you have the nerve to come back! You have wronged me many times over...what are you sorry for?"_

"M'lord," Umbra started hopelessly. "This one could not find--"

_"I told you to come back within the month if you could not find the mythal!"_ the lich fumed. _"I gave you the door! And to top it all off, you brought with you a...a kobold." _The shadow looked at Deekin in amazement, fully realizing what he was, and turned to Umbra._ "Why did you bring a kobold?"_

"He is this one's friend, m'lord," Umbra told him submissively.

_"Your friend?"_ The undead wizard seemed almost amused at the idea. _"Well, to be honest, I'm surprised anything would want to be friends with you." _He remembered his anger. _"You should have been HERE!"_

"M'lord..." Umbra trailed off, knowing it was useless to argue.

_"For your treachery, I should cast Light upon you!" _the lich went on. _"Without the robe to protect you, no less!"_

"Please, m'lord!" Umbra cried. "Do not do that! This one will do anything!" Her begging reminded Deekin of the many times he had pleaded Tymofarrar for mercy.

_"Drop your weapons and bow down to me,"_ the lich ordered. Umbra did so, discarding the swords reluctantly. _"Now give me the robe of Vecna, or I'll take it from you." _

"Please, m'lord," Umbra begged, still bowed down. "This one needs the robe...please, do not take it."

_"Still you disobey me?" _The lich's fingers lengthened on one hand, and glowed vibrantly. Keeping the lighted hand well away from himself, the shadow lich slashed at Umbra with it. The fingers drug into her back, leaving four prominent tears in the fabric. Beyond the tears, there was no flesh that Deekin could see, only dazzling brightness, which gradually began to fade into blackness. Umbra didn't make a sound, but writhed in obvious pain. It pained Deekin to see her in pain.

_"Give me the robe!" _the lich demanded, and brought his hand down again.

"M'lord..." Umbra pleaded in agony as the fingers raked across her back, leaving four more large, luminous slashes. Deekin's heart panged.

_"You will be a wisp by the time I get that robe,"_ the shadow lich threatened, raising his arm. Umbra said nothing, only continued to writhe pathetically. Deekin couldn't stand it anymore.

"STOPS IT!" Deekin yelled, jumping in front of Umbra and spreading his arms out protectively. The lich terrified him, but he stood his ground. To his relief, the light faded away from the lich's fingers. The lich didn't bother to stoop down; he allowed his lower half to lose form and twisted like a snake, lowering himself that way, and pressed his face close to Deekin's.

_"You dare to defy me, lizard?"_ he hissed. Deekin would have commented on how cliched that line was, but the lich's red-eyed glare froze him with terror. He summoned his courage and managed to say instead, "You not hurts Boss. Boss only wanted to be free. Just gives Boss the Dark Wind, and we leaves." His words were brave, but his knees were ready to give out. He hoped Umbra was alright.

_"And why would I give you the Dark Wind?"_ the lich wondered.

"So we can stops mean snake-lady from taking over world," Deekin responded. "Undrentide, too."

_"Heurodis will have to face me," _the shadow lich corrected. _"Not my cowardly servant and its talking lizard."_

"Boss not be cowardly servant!" Deekin snapped. "Boss be bravest, greatest hero ever! Years from now, people tells stories and sings songs about Boss's greatness, and you just sits here in dark and listens, like dumb shadow-thing you be!!!"

_"I want to laugh at that idea,"_ the shadow lich remarked, stretching his claws. _"But I have no lungs, so I think I'll just kill you for your impertinence, instead."_

Deekin gritted his teeth and waited for the blow; but then he saw it. The still-lit sword, rising up behind the unsuspecting shadow lich. And there, holding onto the hilt, was Umbra. She brought the sword down quickly, slashing the lich straight through the middle. He seemed harmed not so much by the blade as by the light it cast, disintegrating where it shone brightest. The lich withdrew and gathered into a mist, then reformed himself.

_"What are you doin--"_ he started, when Umbra struck his again. And again, and again, and again. The lich had tortured many, but none had fought back in years, perhaps centuries, and he didn't know how to defend himself. Umbra was much more skilled than he had anticipated, and saw him wherever he tried to hide. Finally, the shadow backed up against a tall black chair that must have been his throne and begged, _"Please, servant...you can keep the robe. Just spare me."_

"No." Umbra delivered the final blow. There was a burst of light, and then the lich dissolved into a black mist, which faded away. With his dying words, he cursed her, _"Damn you, traitorous sha..." _He faded away before his last words could be completed.

Umbra stood, silent and unmoving. Concerned, Deekin wandered over.

"You be okay, Boss?" he asked worriedly.

"'Okay'?" Umbra repeated. "This one is free, Deekin! M'lord is gone! He is really, truly gone! After all these years, this one is finally _free!!_" She grabbed Deekin and hugged him. "Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you! This one would never have overthrown him without you!"

"You is welcome, Boss," Deekin said in a strangled voice. "But you be chokings Deekin."

"This one is sorry, Deekin," she apologized, setting him down gently. "This one is so happy...you wait here. This one will get the Dark Wind and be right back." So saying, she wandered off into the darkness and began searching for it. Deekin didn't even mind that he was all alone in this darkness; he had too much else on his mind. Something was very familiar about this...

Of course. Back in the Silver Marches, in the pie shop in Blumberg. He had been so thrilled to be free at last, and so grateful to Umbra.

The aforementioned came forth then, a small black orb in her hands. She gave it to Deekin.

"Here, m'lord," she told him. "Here is the Dark Wind." Deekin was evidently shocked.

"You means Deekin, Boss," he reminded her. "Not 'm'lord'."

"Yes, of course. This one is sorry, Deekin," she corrected herself.

"That okay, Boss," he smiled, then looked at the small globe in his hands, black rather than white like the other winds. "Wow, Dark Wind really be dark."

"Indeed it is," Umbra agreed. "This Wind is enchanted with shadow magic."

"Oooh." Deekin began to reach for his writing supplies, then remembered that he couldn't write in this darkness. "Uhh...we leaves now, maybe? This place be veeery spooooky...and Deekin got lots of writing to catch up on, besides."

"Of course," Umbra consented. Slipping the scabbards back over her shoulders, she slid her swords back in their sheaths and led Deekin back to the planar door. And so, filled with happiness and confidence, our heroes left the Shadow Plane.

(And so ends Chapter Sixteen. The Winds have been recovered, Umbra has been freed, and the future is looking bright. But is it? Find out in suspenseful music Chapter Seventeen!)


	17. Winded

(A/N: This is the last chapter of the first installment in a two-part series. I'd like to thank everyone who read and reviewed, and I hope you enjoy this chapter and the sequel to come.

Note: I reuploaded the chapter after snackfiend101 pointed out it was a ring of Mystra, not Mischa. Thanks, snackfiend...somehow, I knew I'd confuse the two eventually.

Disclaimer: Still don't own Neverwinter Nights.)

Chapter Seventeen

Deekin was the first to scramble out of the Shadow Plane. It took all his strength to wedge the planar door open, and the exerted force caused him to sprawl onto the dusty floor when the door gave way. Deekin coughed and got up, brushed the dust off his shirt, and took a look around him. The Shadovar looked back and drew their daggers; they were bored and angry, and such a seemingly helpless target was the perfect thing to take their frustrations out on. Fortunately, Umbra stepped out behind Deekin a second later, luminous sword drawn.

"Your lord is dead," Umbra informed bluntly, removing the shard from the planar door, which shrank back down and floated into her palm.

"And Boss kills him!" Deekin chimed in. The Shadovar didn't dare attack Deekin while Umbra was around, and he jumped at the chance to rub it in.

"You...you killed our lord?" a Shadovar woman choked after a shocked silence.

"This one requests not that you believe her," Umbra shrugged, storing the door and shard in her pack and walking away, Deekin close at her heels as he shot smug looks at the Shadovar. "You may look for yourselves, if you are so inclined." The Shadovar did nothing, but Deekin noticed that their individual expressions were uncertain, doubtful, vengeful, frightened, respectful, or overjoyed. At any rate, none moved to attack Umbra--or to resume stealing bricks.

Umbra and Deekin strode out the door into the first room of the Arcanists' Tower; Umbra shut the door swiftly behind them and walked toward the door leading out of the Tower. Deekin followed her, but lingered just a little, noting that Dagget had gone, most likely to scavenge a meal. "Old Fireshorts" was still in his cage, of course, the same blank, sloppy smile pasted on his face as the two passed him by. Umbra leaned the second door open and stepped out into the metropolitan area of Undrentide. With a final look back, Deekin stepped out and closed the door behind them.

Umbra walked quickly, and the city shuddered to remind Deekin why, prompting him to go at a brisk pace himself.

"Ooops, there the grounds goes and shakes again..." he commented. "Deekin not likes the shaking so much. Once ground open up in kobold cavern and bunch of kobolds get swallowed. Old Master chuckle for weeks."

"A sad thing indeed," Umbra said sympathetically.

"Anything like that ever happens to you?" Deekin questioned.

"The Shadow Plane is not prone to quakes," Umbra answered, "but the shadow lich did enjoy others' suffering."

The shaking made writing difficult for Deekin, in addition to the fact that he was determined to write so much so quickly, for fear of being caught mid-sentence as they encountered whatever would be encountered next. His rush was needless, however; superb fighter though she was, Umbra was a horrible navigator. When Deekin finished describing the shadow lich's defeat, they were still aimlessly wandering Undrentide's musty halls. Deekin took this opportunity to correct what he'd written and add some vital details--as well as some not-so-vital ones. Finally, he put his supplies away and smiled up at Umbra, who had her back turned to him and didn't notice this friendly gesture. After another minute or so of walking more, Deekin decided to strike up a conversation.

"What you does after all this, Boss?" he asked her.

"First, tell this one what you will do," Umbra returned.

"Ummm... Deekin not be sure. Deekin go to Dalelands, maybe," he said thoughtfully.

"The Dalelands?" Umbra questioned.

"Yup," he nodded. "Deekin think maybe he go visit Elminster the Sage. That human writes lots of books that Deekin read."

"Oh? And what would you do if you met him?" Umbra queried curiously.

"Deekin gots list of three spelling errors he gives to old human," he informed seriously. "There be no excuse for spelling errors, you knows. Maybe Deekin make few other stops on way. He not kidding when Deekin say he wants to travel." He thought. "Deekin also thinks maybe he goes to Amn. Then maybe he goes to Waterdeep. That be big city... maybe gots a thousand humans, even."

"It sounds like you have thought a lot about this," Umbra noticed.

"Deekin used to thinks about the places he one day go every night before he sleeps," Deekin smiled. "Old Master would laughs at Deekin, but Deekin not care. Then one day after Deekin done with travels, he comes back to kobold caves and he be greatest chieftain ever. He bring kobolds out of caves, he will, whether they likes it or not! Kobolds lives with humans like halflings do and stop raidings and fightings. Deekin do it, too, you will see."

"This one has faith in you," Umbra encouraged.

"Deekin happy you says that," he said gratefully. "If Deekin tells kobolds what great things kobolds could be, maybe they changes. Maybe." He looked up at Umbra curiously. "You ever thinks abouts bringing Shadovar out of shadows, Boss?"

"No," Umbra admitted. "This one is...unlike the others. They may do as they will. This one cares not."

"Oh." Deekin shrugged and went on hopefully, "Maybe Boss and Deekin even travels together once adventure be done? What you thinks of that?"

"Nothing would make this one happier!" she responded, a smile in her voice.

"Goody!" he cried joyfully, heart leaping at her positive response. "First Deekin finish epic story of Boss and then both he and Boss be famous everywhere they travels!"

"And so we shall," Umbra affirmed. "When will this one see your epic tale?"

"Soon, maybe. Once Deekin knows how it all ends, Deekin shows it to you," he promised.

"This one anticipates that day," she told him. "For now, let us continue, lest we never reach the ending." Deekin agreed, and was about to write down their conversation, but changed his mine and put the notebook away. This was a conversation between them...not for the epic tale.

Through some miracle, Umbra at last led them to their destination. The wall was still the same, with the five cobwebbed portcullis set in it and Heurodis's footprints still visible. When Deekin looked, he could see his own long-toed footprints and Umbra's shoe-soled footmarks in the dust as well, from their last visit here. His heart pounded and he trembled with excitement as Umbra shoved the fourth portcullis down and stepped over it, Deekin hopping over it a second later and nearly catching his foot on it. He yanked his foot free, staggered back, stood steady and examined the immense, circular room they had entered. His enthusiasm only grew when he set eyes on what crowded most of the room--a colossal, glowing structure that could only be the Temple of Winds.

It was an impressive sight, with tier upon tier stacked on each other, each glowing with a rosy, unearthly light and creating tall tower that rose into the ceiling and beyond. Golden-lit windows glimmered brilliantly along the sides; batlike gargoyles clung to surfaces and moaned noiselessly; the bricks forming the building were rounded and smooth, with not a single door cut into the structure to mar its glorious perfection.

"The Temple of Winds is the highest tower of Undrentide," Umbra noted. "And certainly the most impressive." That went without saying.

"Come," Umbra reminded Deekin, beckoning him over to a large metal chest that resembled a sarcophagus. "This is the Ark." Deekin saw that there were many elaborate carvings on the Ark, but spared no time to inspect them as Umbra shoved the lid back with a clattering noise. The Ark's interior was lined with soft black velvet. After all these years, it smelt of rot and age, but it was still a pretty sight. It bore three impressions--one for each Wind.

"You may set the Winds inside, Deekin," Umbra offered, proffering the Dead Wind's globular remains. He took it with a grateful smile, setting it down gently in the first impression. From inside his pack, he found and brought out the Wise Wind and Dark Wind, nestling them in with equal care. The orbs seemed to wink out at him, two milky-white and one jet-black. Umbra gripped the lid and pulled it back over the Ark, sealing it once more. This done, she backed away and encouraged Deekin to do the same.

"Now watch," she instructed. Deekin obeyed with an awed nod.

At first, the Ark did nothing at all. Then slowly, it began to rock back and forth like a cradle; in a timely fashion, Undrentide shook as well. A chunk of the ceiling came loose and landed very near Deekin, though Umbra was prompt in yanking him out of harm's way. The Ark shivered violently, and the Winds broke free, in their whirlwind forms again. They sent the lid spinning off and crashing into the next wall, and each wind picked up velocity and grew with each passing moment. Dust swirled off the floor and walls and gathered in the aspiring cyclones, lending them grayish color and wormlike form. The winds began to roar as they spun faster and faster, growing larger and larger; then, with the mightiest howl of all, they crashed into the Temple and broke it open, spewing bricks, broken statues and shattered glass in every direction--Umbra was quick to shield Deekin, but didn't seem bothered by the debris that hit her. Their sole mission completed, the Winds whistled with pleasure, dying down and settling into the air that spawned them.

Umbra trod out onto the shattered stone bits and glass shards which now littered the floor, sweeping carelessly across them toward the immense section of the Temple that had been demolished. Deekin followed and bit back a cry when a shard of glass lodged in his foot. Delicately, he pulled the offending shard out, tossed it away and cautiously made his way over to the Temple, surveying the damage. The newly opened area was ridged with broken bricks, like thousands of razor-edged teeth rimming a cavernous mouth. Beyond it was a marble staircase with elegant steps that were wide and slender; Umbra ascended them one-by-one in a hurried manner, while Deekin hopped over them three at a time and kept roughly in stride with his hero. The staircase spiraled upward, each step individually twisting to the right so the turns were smooth and constant. The stairs led them up to a rosy wooden door that had recently begun to rot, riddled with wormholes but still intact--Deekin suspected a failing Netherese enchantment was at fault.

Deekin breathed in sharply as Umbra reached for the door's slim metal handle. "Boss?"

"Yes, Deekin?"

"Umm...big fight with scary snake lady is real close, huh?"

"It would seem that way."

"Deekin wonders if he gets chance to finish epic tale of Boss," he frowned. "Snake lady might turns Deekin to stone again."

"You will be fine, Deekin," Umbra assured him. "This one will let no one harm you." With that, she yanked the door handle. At that instant, the door crumbled to dust.

The Temple of Winds was long deserted. Only spiders and rats lurked its dark halls and nested in its dreary corners still. Many thick layers of dust and cobwebs cloaked it all and lent it a look of death.

"This is the Inner Sanctum," Umbra informed.

"So how we gets down?" Deekin wondered. The two had stepped out on a wide pedestal that loomed over the rest of the room, surrounded by a wide, circular gap that isolated it more still.

"...that, this one does not know." Umbra looked around and espied a long black chain attached to the ceiling that trailed down into the depths of the gap. Taking ahold of it, she said, "We may use this."

"You sure that be good idea, Boss?" Deekin asked tentatively.

"We have no other means," she replied honestly, giving Deekin a lower part of the chain to hold onto. Reluctantly, he took it, curling his fingers around it tightly. Umbra removed her swords from their scabbards--"We may meet with something unpleasant sooner than we would wish it," she explained, the thought of which sent a chill up Deekin's spine. Umbra slid each blade into a link of the chain and braced herself against it

"Are you ready?" she questioned. Deekin nodded feebly in reply. "Good." She leapt off the edge. The chain plunged off with her, Deekin with it; he shut his eyes and clutched the chain desperately, grabbing it with his feet as well and tucking his tail around him. The sensation of falling made his stomach leap in his throat, and the snap of the chain stopping jarred his bones.

Umbra and Deekin hung over the pit futilely, midway between the pedestal and the rest of the room.

"How we gets across now?" Deekin asked finally.

"This one knows not," Umbra replied.

"Deekin afraid you says that." He sighed and avoided looking down, knowing it would only make matters worse. He trusted Umbra would think of something, but in the meantime--

A crunching noise broke Deekin's thoughts.

"What be that?" he wondered nervously. In response, a rusted chainlink above him snapped, and the chain broke.

"AAAAAAAAIIIIIEEEEEE!!" Deekin screamed as he fell away. He was headed for the bottom facefirst, and could only see darkness below him...

Something snatched hisarm then. Deekin saw Umbra's glowing sword fall past him, plunging down. It twirled as it fell, a spinning beacon of light, growing smaller and smaller as it fell into the dark depths of the gap, shrinking to the size of a pinhead and then vanishing altogether. Deekin gulped, seeing the fate he had narrowly escaped, then looked above him. Umbra's hand was latched firmly onto his arm, and Umbra herself was hanging off the bottom of the broken chain, her dull sword wedged in the last link, the only thing keeping them in this precarious position. She had dropped the sword to free her hand and grab him.

"Deekin," Umbra said.

"Yeah, Boss?" he whispered, thankful but still scared.

"Prepare to land." So saying, she tossed him across the gap. Deekin yelped and landed a short distance past the rim of the gap, skidding a few feet before slowing to a stop. He rubbed his grazed tail and ran over to the edge.

"Boss!" he cried. "You stays there! Deekin helps--" Umbra paid his words no heed. Yanking her sword free, she leapt.

"BOSS!!" he yelled frantically, staring down at the depths of the pit. Where was she--?

He saw her slender black fingers grip the edge of the floor a second later, just a few feet from him. He raced over to help, but she easily pulled herself up, to his relief.

"You be okay, Boss?" he asked, concerned.

"This one is fine, Deekin," she assured him. "What of you?"

"Deekin okay," he told her. "Deekin gots a few scrapes, is all."

"That is most fortunate," Umbra said.

"But, Boss..."

"Yes, Deekin?"

"What abouts your sword?" he reminded, gazing at the pit.

"This one will manage," she insisted, walking ahead, single sword drawn and poised for battle. "Come, now. We cannot afford to loiter in this place." Deekin nodded and went along, feeling a little guilty that she had sacrificed her last luminous sword to save him.

"If you are worrying about the sword, do not," Umbra said suddenly. "It was a small price to pay, in exchange for saving your life." Deekin looked up at her. Her face was emotionless as ever, but it was obvious she cared a great deal for him. Deekin smiled gratefully and walked closer to her; it was nice to be cared for.

A single door stood against the far wall. Like the Temple's exterior, it glowed with a rosy, ethereal light. This was either the way to Heurodis...or the way to a trap, Deekin thought. Umbra didn't seem to think of this; forcing the door open, she stepped through. Trepidly, Deekin did so as well. There was a brief moment in which he couldn't see, feel, hear, smell, or touch anything, and was trapped in an instant of nothingness; then the nothing parted to make way for something, and Deekin was standing on ground again. He became aware that was standing on a thin strip of raised ground--a bridge, of sorts. Looking down, he could see only bottomless blackness--the Temple's architect was fond of endless chasms, Deekin noted, and took out his notebook to jot this down. He saw that a vast network of thin marble bridges stood out over the gap. At the far edges of the gap, he could see marble walls; above him was an ornate marble ceiling. This was all part of a colossal room, he realized, and the walls bore four doors, one for each main direction, with a bridge leading out to each one. The bridges then led off into the network of bridges again, like silk threads in a spiderweb.

Deekin stood in the very center of it all, where several bridges connected in a circular shape. The bridges around him formed more circles, each larger than the one before it, with lines cutting through them. It really did look like a gigantic spiderweb. Deekin would hate to meet the spider.

"Deekin?" He whirled around to see Umbra standing behind him.

"Boss!" he cried, relieved. "Deekin not hears you coming." He looked around once more, pen and notebook still in hand. "You thinks it be Netherese enchantment that gets us here?"

"This one would think so," Umbra avered, walking out onto one of the off-shooting bridges. Deekin ambled off after her, still busily writing details into his notebook. His concentration broke when he felt the ground beneath his toes getting very hot.

"Boss?" The floor was getting hotter by the second, but Umbra couldn't feel it through her shoes. There was no time; hoping for the best, Deekin grabbed Umbra by the waist and yanked her onto an adjoining bridge--she was surprisingly light, he realized, more like a doll than a human. A second later, the bridge they had stood upon burst into flames.

"Thank-you--" Umbra started.

"No time!" Deekin yelled. "This bridge getting hot too!" Umbra jumped to her feet, and the two ran onto an adjacent bridge. Again, the bridge they'd just left burst into flames.

"We gots to hurry!" Deekin urged her, making a break for the door nearest them. It was at least a dozen bridges away; he ran quickly, but nearly bowled off the edge into the pit and was forced to slow down. Heart pounding, he was thankful to see Umbra just behind him. She didn't pass him, knowing it was too risky on this thin bridge, but kept pace easily.

They crossed the bridges rapidly, narrowly avoiding one flaming disaster after another. Only a few bridges separated them from the door now--and then the bridge immediately in front of them was set aflame. Deekin's heart leapt, and he automatically sought to cross onto the bridge to his left. This, too, was lit afire, as was the bridge to his right and the bridge behind them. They were trapped.

There was a loud, gurgling sound beneath them. Then the same sound again, louder, to his right, and up out of the pit rushed a thick, tenous mass of black flesh, ending in an eel-like head. The thing bared rows of long, sharp gray teeth, two yellow eyes glistening blankly on the sides of its glossy dark head. Up rose another of the wormy creatures to his left; then another, and another, and another, until they were surrounded by at least eight of them. Flames leapt high out of the pit, but the creatures didn't seem to mind, long red tongues lolling out their mouths and dripping globs of green, slimy saliva.

_We're going to die here, _Deekin thought, heart sinking. Even Umbra couldn't fend off those titanic beasts, and she could do nothing against the flames...

_No._ They'd made it this far. He then remembered the ice spell Tymofarrar had taught him. Heart racing, he prayed it would work and prepared the spell.

"Gets ready to run, Boss," he whispered.

"This one shall," she affirmed. Deekin cast the spell. The resulting ice blew across the bridge in front of them, melting into water over the heat and dropping down, extinguishing the flames. Deekin and Umbra bolted across, crossing that bridge and the one after it quickly. Only one bridge separated them from their goal now. One of the eel monsters emitted a sickening, burbling sound, and smashed its head down in front of them, blocking their path.

"Keep going," Umbra ordered Deekin, brandishing her longsword and cutting ahead. She plunged the sword deep into the eel-creature's eyes. It screamed in pain and lifted, taking Umbra with it, for she refused to let go of the hilt.

"Boss!" Deekin yelped.

"Keep going!" she repeated urgently. Realizing there was no time to argue, he did as she said and dashed across the bridge. The eel-thing Umbra had attacked saw this and lunged at Deekin, stretching its drooling maw wide open to scoop him up. At that instant, Umbra pulled her sword out of the thing's eye and leapt down, landing safely on the floor. Putrid yellow fluids spurted out of the creature's pierced eye; moaning to itself, it withdrew into the pit. The other eel-beasts followed suit. They weren't very determined creatures, Deekin thought to himself.

"Come now!" Umbra commanded, shoving the door open. Deekin and she ran past the opened door and closed it tight behind them. Deekin panted, relieved but out of breath. To top it off, his back pains were acting up again. But there was something good about this all, he thought, grinning as he wrote about the eel-monsters' attack in his notebook.

"It's the climax!" Deekin announced excitedly. "The climax of your epic tale is upon us, Boss! Huzzah!!"

"The climax?" Umbra sounded dismayed. "So the end is nearly upon us already?"

"Deekin sure we makes it out okay, Boss," he said positively. "We makes it this far."

"Even so." Umbra swept ahead. "On to the end we shall go, friend."

"Onward!" Deekin agreed, packing his writing supplies away and hurrying to catch up. They were striding through a narrow hall, dust swirling into the air with each step. Deekin was filled with excitement, happiness and fear. This had been a fabulous tale, and only grown better.

How would it end? He couldn't wait to find out.

The hall came to an end. Umbra stopped stolidly, whereas Deekin came skittering to a halt. His eyes swept the room at the hallway's end. It was large, but not nearly the size of the room they had come out of. Tall windows lined the walls, letting in the warm light of a desert sunset. An elaborate, star-shaped red symbol took up most of the floor. A lone figure stood in the middle of it, its head encompassed by writhing snakes.

Heurodis.

Deekin squeezed his eyes tightly shut and fumbled at his belt, searching for his rapier and wondering how he would fight if he couldn't see.

"Deekin, open your eyes," Umbra instructed. "Heurodis cannot change you to stone." Deekin's eyes fluttered open, dreadingly but curiously wandering to Heurodis, and he instantly saw why.

She had no eyes. Only empty sockets gazed blackly out of where her eyes should have been. Her rotting flesh just barely clung to her face, slipping off her cheekbones. She wore only a slim dress, revealing that the rest of her body was in similar shape, neckline plunging to reveal her bare ribs and shriveled organs beyond them. The snakes on her head were decomposed as well, little more than skulls perched on spiny bone-strings of bodies. A mound of rotted flesh was piled at Heurodis's feet; for some time now, she had simply stood there and rotted. A chunk of slimy flesh slopped off her upper arm now and added to the pile. She stank of death.

"Sh-she be dead?" Deekin ventured hesitantly, though he knew she wasn't.

"No," Umbra said grimly. "She has become a lich in order to bind herself with the mythallar, and it speeds her decomposition." Heurodis seemed to notice them at this point--or perhaps she had noticed them before, and felt as though there was no need to rush.

"If you could only sssee what I sssee," Heurodis bragged. "I am joined with the mythal now! Who needsss earthly eyesss when one can sssee with the sssoul of the world!"

"What you sees?" Deekin asked curiously, bringing out his writing supplies and making a note of this.

"Deekin..." Umbra groaned.

"I can see all the vassstness of the Anauroch," Heurodis told them gleefully as a chunk of skin slid off her chin, exposing the jabbering jawbone. "To the wessst, a Formian queen isss laying an egg that will become her only daughter. To the eassst, the tent of an old Bedine man is buried beneath a sssandssstorm..."

"Ooo... maybe you sees if Deekin's friend Raklig the bat be fine," Deekin wondered, remembering a bat he had kept as a pet for a short time in the Nether Mountains.

"I sssee your doom, little one, yesss," Heurodis hissed with relish, and turned to Umbra.

"And I sssee you. I sssee how death clingsss to you, how the shadowsss cling to you. Your life hasss long been over..." Deekin quirked a scaly brow and wrote this down, wondering what it meant.

"Stay your decaying tongue, medusa," Umbra cut in spitefully, lifting her sword high.

"You tire ssso quickly of our conversssation?" Heurodis questioned, her failing cheek muscles barely forming a grin.

"This one came to kill you, not to banter," Umbra retorted.

"With the mythal'sss power, no harm can come to me," Heurodis stated confidently. "Let usss ssspar, then, atop thissss city as it flies. Thisss time I will turn you to ash, not to ssstone!" Deekin reluctantly put his pen and notebook away and reached for his rapier.

"Shadows take you!" Umbra returned, swinging her sword. The blow should have easily halved the decrepit undead; but it did nothing. Thinking she had somehow missed, Umbra swung again. Again, Heurodis stood unaffected, a superior smile splayed across her gross face. Umbra raised her hand and waved it, muttering an incantation. A pillar of fire descended on the medusa, entirely engulfing her. The fire roared down unrelentingly for a good twelve seconds. When it finally died down, Heurodis was untouched.

"What--" Umbra cried.

"It isss the mythal, fool!" Heurodis cackled, raising her own hand. An invisible force knocked Umbra against the far wall. Umbra quickly regained her footing, but only stood there uneasily, wondering what she could do. There was nothing she could do, Deekin knew; it was as Heurodis had said. The mythal protected her from harm.

And there was the mythal, set on a small pedestal at the top of the symbol painted on the floor. Deekin sneaked over carefully, hoping the medusa wouldn't cast a devastating spell upon Umbra before he could complete his mission.

Deekin made it to the pedestal and reached for the mythal. It had gained much power since last he saw it, pulsing vibrantly with magic. Deekin grasped it in his palm, clawed fingers curling around it. It charged him with a burst of magic; he shook it off and wandered over to the window. He took a deep breath, gathered his courage, and hollered, "Hey, mean snake-lady!"

"What is it--" Heurodis stopped mid-sentence, somehow seeing the mythal in his hand. "LIZARD! PUT IT DOWN!"

"Okay!" Deekin grinned, tossing it at the window. The glass easily shattered and the mythal fell through, plunging to the ground below.

"NOOO!!" Heurodis ran over, shoving the kobold aside. Knowing she was too late to grab it from there, she promptly flung herself at the window. The entire window broke at this, raining glass after the lich as she fell to the ground. Mid-air, Heurodis scrambled and flipped herself, stretching to reach the mythal and falling past it. She fell for a long time, finally hitting the ground. She got up, looked up--and then the mythal hit the ground.

The ensuing explosion was amazing. It extended for miles, though Deekin had a perfect view of it from where he was. It was a cloud of swirling, frenzied colors, and one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. It splashed sand all around it, and when the cloud finally subsided it left a great crater in the ground. Heurodis was no more.

Deekin didn't have long to enjoy the victory. The city lurched so sharply it almost sent him flying out the window; without the mythal to support it, Undrentide began to fall again. Deekin could only sit and reflect on what he'd just done.

"Deekin!" Umbra's voice snapped up his attention, drawing it to her. He saw that she had opened the planar door to the Shadow Plane, and was beckoning for him to go into it. Deekin grinned and raced over, jumping inside the door. Umbra was right behind him, shutting the door firmly closed and ushering him away from it. Deekin held his breath in anticipation, though of what he wasn't certain.

Half a minute later, the door shattered. Undrentide had hit the ground again, and in its condition it had, apparently, fared poorly this time around. It must have completely broken...and the planar door with it.

There was a silence.

"How we gets out?" Deekin asked finally.

"_We_ do not."

Deekin shivered at this reply. "Wh-what you means, Boss?" Umbra did not answer; instead, she fished around in her pack. She withdrew a small object and placed it in Deekin's hand. He examined it; it was a ring. A single small crystal shimmered brilliantly on the band.

"What be--"

"It is a ring of Mystra," Umbra told him.

"The goddess of magic?"

"Yes." She took the ring and slipped it on his finger, holding his hand for a while before letting go. "It will take you back to Hilltop, to Drogan's home." Deekin looked up at Umbra questingly.

"What abouts you, Boss?"

"This one shall stay." The words hit Deekin hard. "This one has spent many years in the Shadows...this one can spend many more."

"Boss, no!" He grabbed her and hugged her tight. Umbra was surprised, but returned the hug, stroking his head gently as she did so.

"Deekin...this one would never forgive herself if you were trapped in this place. This one vowed to protect you..."

"But..." He squeezed his eyes shut; he could feel tears coming on.

"Only one of us may use the ring. It shall be you."

"Okay, Boss." He sniffed. "Deekin guesses this be good time to say something. Deekin is, ummm, very happy he comes with you. Deekin was right when he say you be great hero... and now Deekin be hero, too." He swallowed back tears and smiled a little. "Deekin wants to...thank you for freeing him and taking him on great adventure. Deekin not feels like kobold stuck in cave anymore, and that all he ever wanted...to be more than just kobold."

"You are far more than that, Deekin," Umbra told him. "This one knows not whom or what you may encounter in your life, but do not ever let them crush your dreams."

"Thanks, Boss." He hugged her tighter.

"This one would like to thank you, as well," Umbra said. "This one was a minion of the shadow lich...when she escaped, she saw the light, and hoped she could become something more. As the years passed by, even with Drogan's help, that hope began to fade...but then this one met you. You have given this one hope, Deekin, and now this one feels...real. So long as this one has your memory to light her way, this one will never be lost to the shadows."

"Deekin glad he helps." He sniffed again, and for a long while they stayed that way, silently enjoying each others' company. Finally, Umbra let him go and retreated into the darkness.

"Farewell," she said sadly. "May you find happiness and strength in yourself wherever you go."

"Farewell," Deekin echoed, tears welling in his eyes and streaming down the sides of his face. Umbra chanted arcane phrases, and the ring began to glow. The ring's light washed over Deekin, enveloping him, and he was floating...

When Deekin opened his eyes, he was standing in a small living room. A stout wooden table set in one corner, a few cherrywood chairs placed around it. There was a fireplace, flickering invitingly. There was the heavy dresser with the mahogany box, where he'd found the artifacts that day. Here he was, in Drogan's living room again, just as he had when he'd help the other kobolds raided it. So much had happened since then. His stomach clenched, and his heart ached so horribly at the thought of Umbra he thought it would burst. He felt drained of any will, and only stood there dejectedly, warming himself by the fire.

"Who's there?" a voice demanded sharply. Stepping out of a doorway in one wall was an elven woman wearing a strange medley of metal armor, the same that had killed many kobolds off last time he visited. Her eyes narrowed vehemently at the sight of him. Deekin bolted to the door; finding it to be locked, he didn't waste time unlocking it. Bunching his muscles, he leapt up to the window, scrambled up on the pane and jumped out of it. The window had been closed, and he crashed through it with a spray of shattered glass. He picked the largest shards out of his scales as he ran. The elven woman didn't give chase.

Deekin walked for a long time. The weather was even colder than he remembered; a spell Tymofarrar had cast upon him long ago kept him from succumbing to the frigid temperatures, but he still felt frozen, and the ache in his heart made him feel all the colder. He had no idea where he was going; his feet knew, though. They remembered the way, and took him toward the Nether Mountains. He didn't argue; he felt too numb, inside and out.

His foot caught on something and he stumbled, sprawling in the freezing snow. He shivered uselessly, knowing he should get up but lacking the will. Thoughts and memories drifted through his head, mostly ones of Umbra. One, however, concerned Tymofarrar.

"Don't be such a coward," Tymofarrar had chided him once, long ago. "You have dragon blood in you. Be like a dragon. It's the only way you'll ever get what you want."

_Be like a dragon._ Dragons were courageous and strong. Umbra would want Deekin to be the best he could be.

Deekin got up, turned around and started walking away from the Nether Mountains. One day he would return, but not yet.

His adventures were only beginning.

On the Plane of Shadows, a hooded figure sat slouched in her dead lord's throne. She said nothing, did nothing, but her thoughts were alive with memories of the small kobold that had traveled with her and lighted her bleak existence. In her lean black hands, she clutched the bouquet of faded cloth flowers he had given her.

And she remembered.

End Part One.

(And so ends Part One. Keep an eye out for the sequel, "Dependence II: Lightseeker".)


End file.
